


Mirror: the war

by FED_NS



Series: Mirror [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Abusive Vernon Dursley, Angst, BAMF Harry Potter, Dark Harry, Dark Harry Potter, Drama, Gen, Legilimency, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Occlumency, Powerful Harry, Powerful Harry Potter, Super!Potter, Time Travel, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26122489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FED_NS/pseuds/FED_NS
Summary: Life dictates its rules, and Harry Potter is not the one we used to see. He knows who he is and what he wants, but suddenly a letter from Hogwarts arrives and turns everything upside down. Would this new life be a blessing or just another circle of hell?Super!Potter. Abuse. This is a side-story for 'Mirror' — a collection of one-shots about Harry's Hogwarts years.
Series: Mirror [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840168
Comments: 19
Kudos: 31





	1. 0.7.22.91 The unexpected news

**Author's Note:**

> **AN FROM NOV 10:**  
>  Hey, guys! I'm in dire need of a good beta...  
> I realize (and always have) that my grammar is abysmal. I'm doing everything I can to find and correct all mistakes, but since I'm not a native English speaker, it's an awfully hard task for me... So if you are a beta, or you know someone who is, and willing to help me with both stories, please, contact me! I'd be very very VERY grateful!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** As I said in the ‘Mirror’, it’s a completely pointless thing in these circumstances. But I’ve read a few fics lately, the author of which pointed out that if they did own any of the characters, things would’ve ended differently. And I decided that I agree wholeheartedly.
> 
>  **Author's notes:**
> 
> _First._ As this is not the main story, it will move very slowly. I mean, very.
> 
>  _Second._ The name of each chapter would start with a number like this one: VI.10.16.96. It means that events described in that particular chapter took place (or at least started) when Harry was in the 6th year, on October 16, 1996, to be precise. If the first number is 0, the events are happening before Hogwarts.
> 
>  _Third._ I'll try to write in the correct order (from year 1 to year 7) but I can't promise that… I have an awful memory, plus the 'Mirror' is far from finished (we're still at the beginning really) and I don't know where things might turn in the future, and what background I would want you to see here. What I can promise, though, is that even if I won't write, I will definitely post all chapters in the right succession. Therefore, the whole thing with numbers.
> 
>  _And forth._ I'm also open to suggestions on the topics of chapters. So if you guys want to read about some specific event from the original books from my Harry's point of view, you're welcome to ask me in a comment or in a private message.
> 
> Let us begin...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's life suddenly gets interrupted by the _very_ annoying and persistent wizarding world.

_The war of our lives no one can win_

_“So close”_ _  
__Ólafur Arnalds_ _  
__(feat. Arnór Dan)_

## 0.7.22.91 The unexpected news

It was a very strange day. 

It started as usual with Harry Potter being woken up by Mrs. Petunia Dursley, his so-called aunt, so he could get started on cooking breakfast. In a few minutes, every member of the Dursley family gathered in the kitchen as usual and waited, and then… 

“Get the mail, Dudley,” said Mrs. Dursleyʼs seal of a husband, not tearing his tiny eyes from the paper when they all heard the click of the mail slot. 

Harry was shocked… Though, he knew better than to show any sign of it.

“Make the freak get it.” 

What a big surprise. Ickle Pigleykins doesn't want to lift his enormous ass from the stool. _No way_. 

“Get the mail, boy.” 

In the old times, Harry would definitely tell those fat bastards what else he could get them, but he stopped being that foolish at least three years ago. And just to be clear, this morning Harry Potter was exactly ten years eleven months and twenty-two days old. 

Being let out of his latest exile to the cupboard only this morning, and not wishing to go back there just yet, Harry turned the bacon over so it won't burn and went to get the letters, dodging the pig's stick with the well-practiced motions. His stomach habitually ached from the lack of food during the last weeks, but there was nothing he could do right now. He would get food, all right, but not earlier than he finished his chores for the day.

Grabbing the three envelopes without a spare glance (he didn't care who could write to his 'dear family'), Harry quickly went back and without a word tossed them on the table in front of his uncle. The boy never talked much. Only when he answered a teacher's questions at school, but the Dursleys usually lived without hearing his voice for days, sometimes weeks or even months on a row, and every inhabitant of number 4 Privet Drive was happy with it. Besides, there wasn't much to talk about. All conversations usually converged on giving orders or asking if they were complete. And Petunia was perfectly satisfied with nodding in response. 

Harry got back to the task, listening closely to everything in the room. Not paying attention proved to be dangerous in the past, and Harry never repeated his mistakes. He heard how Vernon tore open one of the envelopes and snorted in disgust. _“Must be the bill,”_ decided Potter. 

“Marge's I'll,” grunted the Dursley. “Ate a funny whelk…”

“Dad! Look!” squealed Dudley, cutting Vernon's sentence in the middle. Then was a rustling of paper, followed by the horrified gasp, “P-P-Petunia!”, then another moment of loud fuss, accompanied by the pig's whining.

Harry finished dishing out scrambled eggs and bacon, grabbed the two plates, and turned to the table just in time to see his aunt clutch her throat and make choking sounds while squeezing the letter with the other hand. Both Dursleys looked at each other in panic. Satisfaction filled Harry's gut. There must be some awful news for them to be _that_ terrified.

But the feeling died very quickly. What did he care if something happened? It was not his business. Harry served the last plate on the dining table and ignoring his cousin's howling, looked on the list of his chores pinned on the fridge, drank a glass of water, and went outside to start weeding and mowing the lawn.

Harry did not see how Dudley, who for the first time in his life did not get what he wanted, made a poor attempt at eavesdropping on the important private conversation between the older Dursleys', failed spectacularly, and was sternly told off by his oaf of a father. But then again, not that he cared.

It didn't matter what his aunt and uncle tried to hide. It didn't matter how much of a hell they turned his life into. Because Harry found his way out. He found his light at the end of this ugly tunnel. The whole universe of power and possibilities, of choices and freedom, of knowledge and mystery. 

Yes, Harry was ten, but he wasn't a child. 

He never played games, and never had toys. But what he did have, was much better… 

Harry Potter had a secret.

A secret so tremendous and important, that everything else dimmed compared to it.

So simple, yet incredibly complicated. 

_Magic_.

He discovered it accidentally when he wasn't even five. At the Dursley household strange and very funny things (like floating dishes, blowing up toys, lights that changed colors) were not a rare occurrence those days. Harry never understood any of them, but somehow his family had always held him responsible. It was so unfair! And the more they blamed the boy, the more funny things seemed to happen. The more things happened, the more severe Harry's punishment was. The more severe Harry's punishment was, the more often and strange things got. And so on and on. An endless circle.

It escalated very quickly… Vernon's displeasure became panic and fury. Shoves and slaps turned into fists and belts. Small portions of food at meals turned into a starvation diet. The occasional chore now and then turned into a ten-hour working day.

Harry never felt angrier than then. Days, filled with exhaustion, almost constant pain and hunger no kid should know, nights full of horrors and fear made him bitter and hateful. Gone was a youthful spark from his eyes… It was replaced by coldness and defiant determination to stay upright.

The day Vernon Dursley had beat his nephew into a bloody pulp for the first time was the day Harry's childhood ended.

And as he lay in his cupboard, unable to move a muscle without white-hot pain shooting through his entire body, and crying silently for the last time in his life, Harry swore to himself that he would never be weak again. He prayed to everyone he knew that everything Vernon always blamed him for was true. That this invisible force that surrounded him, that magic ( _Yes, he said it!_ ) for once would be useful and help him through this hell. 

And it did.

When the next morning Petunia opened the cupboard door to make sure the brat was still alive (heavens forbid, her husband got in trouble over the freak), Harry was covered in blood and dirt but slept peacefully for the first time in weeks. She woke him up, and Harry discovered with surprise that he was healed completely. But to the shower he was allowed to take, the boy cautiously limped anyway. Just in case. 

Now, after hours and hours of practicing while locked in the cupboard or busy with some mindless task, Harry could tell with full confidence that he's a powerful wizard and that no one ever would be allowed to wipe floors with him again.

Despite Vernon and Petunia's fear and disgust, Harry used magic all the time. It did half of the work for him, treated his wounds if needed. For example, when Harry mowed the lawn, he didn't have to push the heavy mower, it did it all by itself. Or when he cleaned the house, the most awful stains came out without much effort. 

But the best part of it all was the long-waited opportunity to pay back. When Harry mastered his magic enough, one beautiful day the pig broke his leg at school. And another also amazing day Vernon got in a car crash (regretfully, he wasn't injured as gravely as Harry would prefer, but the favorite car was sent to a junkyard). Petunia proved to be even easier prey. Several hateful glances, and she went almost insane from fear and worry for her beloved husband and son… Everything just kept falling out of her hands, and if it accidentally bruised or cut her, who's to blame? She stopped gossiping with neighbors, she stopped doing everything, and spent days locking herself in the drawing-room watching TV or reading magazines, but mostly just staring at one spot, sometimes murmuring something. On long nights all three of them were plagued with nightmares. Of course, it was risky… But Harry always made sure to never do things directly, staying in the deep shadow. 

It all lasted for over a year. Harry never missed an opportunity to have a little fun with his dear family, but eventually, it got boring. Potter stopped his reign of terror and the Dursleys left him be for the most part. Of course, he still worked as hard as ever, and Vernon still lost his temper occasionally, but it never got as bad as it once was. Everyone in the house learned their lesson well enough to know what would happen if they push the boy too hard. 

When Harry got into the house that evening after several hours of working in Petunia's garden, he was stopped in the hall by the Dursleys. They both stood rigidly, clutching at one another with the deadliest grip, and smiling disturbingly sweetly. 

"Er — Harry…" said the whale through the clenched teeth, "about your cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… You’re really getting a bit big for it… We think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom." 

"Why?" asked Harry suspiciously after a very long pause. Usually, he wouldn't bother, but this was unbelievably strange even for his standards. Not to mention that the bastards haven't talked nicely and referred to him by his given name since… Well, never.

"Don’t ask questions!" snapped Vernon. "Take your bloody freakish stuff upstairs, now!"

When he realized what he said, the man paled a little, glanced for a second at his horse-faced wife, and smiled at Harry shakily. "And then you take the rest of the evening off, your aunt will make dinner tonight." Then they both darted to the drawing-room and quickly closed the door behind them. Harry stood in the middle of the hall, scowling. _What on earth was that?_ Whatever these fools read in the mysterious letter has to do with him, then, he supposed. Or they just finally lost what was left of their minds. _"Interesting,"_ thought Potter, _"worth checking out."_

Five minutes later Harry stretched on his new bed, listening to the pig's whining downstairs. It was the weirdest day of his life so far. And we all know how far from usual his definition of 'weird' was. How the seal didn't choke to death while giving Harry the first evening off in years, was beyond comprehension. But whatever fluke that was, it would be unbelievably foolish not to use it to his advantage. Potter closed his eyes, turned off the outside world, and focused on his own mind still debating if he really cared enough to do this.

One time during his little war with the Dursleys, Harry discovered that among other things he could read minds. Can you imagine his surprise when yet another staring contest with Vernon turned out to be an extremely unpleasant journey into the depth of the man's mind? A very useful ability, no doubt, but the aftermath… Harry never felt this sick in his entire life and seriously considered not to do this ever again. But the temptation was too great, and the next several months Potter spent working on his new telekinetic ability, using the family as Guinea pigs. This time he knew what to expect and trod cautiously, allowing his body to adjust to the new sensations. And eventually, he polished this skill almost to perfection.

Diving into Petunia's mind (Harry tolerated it far better than Vernon's), he searched the top layer of the woman's memories looking for today's morning. As usual, there was no resistance, not that either of them had any chance in that regard anyway. All any of them could feel during the process was a slight headache, and only if Harry wasn't very careful. If the boy even tried to be careful, mind you, but it was an entirely different story. 

The very first thing Potter learned about minds was that they all were a bunch of gigantic messes. How could anyone possibly find a damn thing in their own heads, Harry positively did not understand. Petunia wasn't an exception from this rule, sadly enough. Reaching instinctively to the direction that felt more fearful and worrisome, Harry looked for a glimpse of the letter and tried to catch pieces of the suitable conversation between her and the whale. Since it was at the forefront of the woman's mind all day, finding the right memory was easy. Catching it, Harry dove inside.

* * *

_"P-P-P-Petunia!" gasped Vernon in shock and pushed the letter into her hands._

_Mrs. Dursley grabbed the piece of paper and her eyes widened in sudden realization._ Harry could tell, she instantly knew what that letter was, and why her husband was so horrified by it. 

Myriads of emotions washed through his aunt at that moment and the boy stepped closer to her.

_Petunia forced herself to look down and read the words. Her hands trembled, while she quickly scanned the list and her hand automatically clasped her throat._

Harry leaned over to look at the letter and read:

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL**   
**of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore _  
__(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_ _  
__Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted  
at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please  
find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no  
later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall, _  
__Deputy Headmistress_

A magical school then… Hah.

So the fools are trying to prevent him from attending a Wizarding school… Interesting. Harry ignored the still playing memory for a moment and tried to identify his own feelings about it, which wasn’t exactly easy, considering sheer panic that Petunia drowned in.

Harry knew about Hogwarts for a long time, since he accidentally stumbled upon Petunia's childhood memories. There wasn't much to look at, really — the woman did all she could to suppress and erase them — Harry managed to see only a couple of memories, everything else was mangled beyond recognition. 

_"Vernon," hissed Petunia in a quivering voice, "look at the address — how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don’t think they’re watching the house?" She paled even more._

_"Watching — spying — might be following us," muttered Vernon, throwing his hands everywhere and glancing around suspiciously, as if trying to figure out where_ they _might be hiding._

_Petunia pressed the hand to the place where her heart presumably was._

_“But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don’t want…” she trailed off. The whale's face was covered with sweat from concentration._

_"No," he said finally. "No, we’ll ignore it. If they don’t get an answer… Yes, that’s best… We won’t do anything…"_

_"But…"_

_"Didn’t we swear when we took him in that we’d put an end to that dangerous nonsense once and for all?! We've barely managed to beat all that freakishness out of the brat before! I won't allow this shit in my house again, Petunia! Did you forget what it was like?! He nearly killed us all!” snapped Vernon, grabbing his wife by the shoulders and shaking her._

_The woman only nodded in response and covered her face with her hands._

_"What if they come here?" she whispered. "When we found out that_ she _was one, they came to our house to persuade my parents…"_

_Vernon started thinking again, his purple vein pulsing dangerously._

* * *

Harry opened his eyes, ceasing the memory. He had a lot to think about. 

Did he even want to go there? It might be a good thing to know someone as 'freakish' as himself, there was no doubt about that. _And_ he supposedly belonged to that world...he certainly didn't belong here. It was another good reason to go. Plus he might learn something useful there. 

But on the other hand… Harry was perfectly capable of teaching himself. He'd been doing it for years now. And he was sure he could find other wizards if he wanted to. But he never really needed anyone. Other people were stupid and useless for the most part, and those who weren't could be counted with fingers on one hand. Harry stopped paying attention to anyone a long time ago. Of course, occasionally some concerned teacher or parent or lady in a shop would approach him with uncomfortable questions and pity in their eyes, but it only annoyed the boy. Yes, his life was awful and hard. Yes, he didn't do anything to deserve it. There was no point in denying that. But it was _his_ life to do as _he_ pleased, and Harry considered it tolerable enough to continue things the way they were. The family treated him worse than shit, but they were useful for the various skill-trainings and practices. Everything Potter knew, he learned using the Dursleys as Guinea pigs. 

There was no way of knowing if he could continue working on his magic in the new world the way he used to here. 

And Harry hated it when things changed. 

Eventually deciding that there was no rush and he had plenty of time to wait and see how things played out before making a move, Harry drifted to a restless slumber until he was woken up by scowling Petunia who dragged the boy downstairs to a ‘family dinner’.

The next few days Harry watched with secret amusement how the Dursley-oaf was ungraciously falling deeper and deeper into complete madness with the speed of light. It seemed that whoever was sending those letters was either too determined or really desperate, which did not bode well with Harry, truthfully. At first, Vernon started sleeping near the front door to prevent anyone else from receiving mail. Then he simply nailed up the mail slot. But if anything, the situation got even worse. The number of letters delivered every single day grew exponentially. They were shoved inside through every possible hole and crack, so Vernon sealed the house with Harry and the family inside. But it didn’t stop the letters from arriving… One morning Harry woke up because of Petunia's shriek when she found them _inside eggs_. 

Suffice it to say, Potter was banned from all chores and spent most of the time in his new room reading Duddley’s books.

When on Sunday morning they literally drowned the house in Harry’s letters, Vernon finally snapped and dragged everyone away in hopes to escape this parchment hell.

Somehow Potter doubted it would help, though.

He still couldn’t come to a decision… As funny as this little hide-and-seek with Vernon’s mental health was, the fact that those people were _that_ persistent reduced Harry’s potential willingness to associate with them considerably. If they pursued every future student that much, they were downright crazy. If Potter was some sort of a special case, he had little doubts he won’t like the reason for such treatment. And if it was someone’s idea of a joke… Well, Harry wasn’t gonna buy it. Either way, nothing good could’ve possibly come out of the whole ordeal, and the more Harry thought about it, the less he wanted to go to that damned school.

 _“Yes, it’s probably the right choice,”_ thought the boy, while lying on the hard floor of what once was a cabin on a rock in the middle of the sea. The walls and windows rattled from the storm outside, it was freezing, but Harry didn’t feel any of it thanks to his magic. He was consumed by his own thoughts and plans for the nearest future.

BOOM!

 _What the hell?!_

BOOM! Sounded again. Someone tried to break inside and judging by the sheer volume of mere knocks, that someone was bloody _big_.

The pig, naturally, jumped awake. 

"Where's the cannon?" he squeaked, shaking. What a moron…

Suddenly there was a loud crash behind them when Vernon barged in. "Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you — I'm armed!" 

There was a little pause, then the door flew into the room, torn off from the doorframe, and landed on the floor with a deafening crash. A giant man, looking more of a vagrant then the wizard (not that Harry knew how wizards supposed to look like, of course), stepped inside. And he definitely was a wizard, Harry felt it right away. The first instinct was to attack the intruder, and the boy concentrated his magic, preparing to give the command, but stopped himself at the last second.

The giant bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame.

A little confused by the strange behavior, Harry decided to give him a chance and find out the purpose of the late-night visit, at the very least. Potter ceased trusting words a long time ago, so to save them all time and breath, the boy caught the giant’s beetle eyes and easily slipped inside his mind. 

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…" said the giant, striding over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear. "Budge up, yeh great lump."

Dudley squeaked, but Harry ignored them all for a moment, quickly catching glimpses of thoughts and memories at the forefront of the man’s mind. Blasted letters. Couldn't they all leave him the hell alone?

"An' here's Harry!" exclaimed the giant. 

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face that was idiotically smiling at him, and frowned. Time for a decision… 

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," he continued. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

 _"Yes, yes, bla bla bla… Poor little orphan, how tragic,"_ thought Harry. 

"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" yelled Vernon, turning purple as per usual. "You are breaking and entering!"

_"Man, at this speed you'll work yourself up to a heart attack...huh, that would've been very nice."_

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," grumbled the giant before making a quick job of turning the gun in Vernon's hands into a pile of shapeless metal in the corner. _"Yeah…cool, of course, but the whale will not be happy about it. The thing definitely wasn't cheap, and all Dursleys would better choke to death than lose a penny. Guess who's going to pay for it afterwards…"_

Vernon made another squeaking noise and Harry nearly snorted. 

"Anyway — Harry," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

 _"How nice…"_ This whole time Harry still searched the man's brain for any information that could be valuable. It turned out that Harry Potter was not just a boy… A celebrity. A savior. Blessed and worshipped. _"Way to treat your saviors, guys… Dump them in a hell hole for a decade."_ And while the idea did not make any sense to him (how could anyone in their right mind believe that a bloody infant could save the whole country?), Harry decided that it would be better if he played fool for now. Because if he really _was_ that special as that giant jimbo thought, he would not be left alone even if tried, and the less everyone knew about Harry the better.

Potter watched how the giant winked and pulled a slightly squashed box from an inside pocket, at the same time trying to put a politely enthusiastic expression on his face and not to laugh at the poorly played show in front of him. Dimwit. But like it or not, the boy needed to play his part, so he opened the box with trembling fingers. Inside was a large chocolate cake with ‘Happy Birthday Harry’ written on it in green icing. Potter very rarely was allowed any sorts of sweets or cakes, so he never held any interest in them. But the gesture was appreciated nonetheless.

Harry looked up at the giant, nodding a silent ‘thank you’. "Who are you?" he asked. It was time to move on to the point, birthday or not. Who cares about birthdays anyway?

The giant chuckled. 

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts,” he said proudly and shook Harry's whole arm. 

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind." 

When no one replied, Hagrid eyed the grate mischievously, leaned closer to it, and mattered something. Harry felt a weak flow of magic rushing towards it, and a moment later a warm fire started in the previously empty fireplace, filling the old, damp, and dusty shack with flickering light.

 _“Breaking the rules, aren’t we? Hm…”_ thought Harry, watching how Hagrid pulled various items out of his seemingly bottomless pockets, took a swig of some sort of booze, and then started cooking on the open fire. _Cooking_ , for god’s sake. And they call _him_ a freak…

The Dursleys apparently shared Harry’s sentiment this time, which felt odd and wrong for so many reasons, and stood hiding behind each other, equally dumbfounded. Everything seemed relatively quiet at the moment, so Potter ventured back into Hagrid’s mind to look through it more thoroughly.

Soon the place filled with the smell of food and Harry’s stomach started aching. He hasn't had a bite since the morning.

"Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley," growled Vernon and Harry dived out of a memory, so he’d be able to pay full attention to his surroundings.

The giant chuckled darkly. "Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry," he sneered and passed the sausages to Harry who started to get annoyed. Did he fly here to feed him? What a waste of time. Maybe a bit of probing will do some good.

"I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are," he asked carefully.

“Call me Hagrid,” replied the half-giant, “everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.”

"Er — no," lied Harry. 

Hagrid bulged his tiny eyes. 

"Sorry," said the boy quickly, continuing to play innocent. 

"Sorry?!" barked Hagrid and stared at the Dursleys, who was instantly blown back into the shadows by the sound of his voice. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

_“Is he fucking serious?!”_

"All what?" asked Harry. 

"ALL WHAT? Now wait jus' one second!" bellowed Hagrid, leaping to his feet and nearly destroying the almost dead couch with his sudden movement. The man’s anger was palpable in the air, and Harry was pleased to see the Dursleys trembling by the furthest wall. _“Good. They should do it more often, maybe then they’ll learn their true place.”_

"Do you mean ter tell me," Hagrid growled at the family, "that this boy — this boy! — knows nothin' abou' — about ANYTHING?" 

It seemed that leaving him with those people wasn’t enough, they just _had_ to send the most dumb and useless person in whole Magical Britan to pick him up. That Dumbledore, who according to Hagrid’s brain was supposed to be the best of the best, seemed less and less bright to Harry. And if the best wizards were so stupid, what was the worst like? _“Why…_ _Just why on earth all the shit always happens with me and no one else?”_ What an idiotic question.

Fine. 

Keep playing.

"I know some things," drawled Harry, showing his annoyance a bit. "I can, you know, do math and stuff." 

He felt so stupid. Sensing someone’s eyes on him, Potter turned to the Dursleys and sent Dudley a deadly glare, warning the imbecile to keep his mouth shut. The pig instantly averted his gaze.

"About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world," waved Hagrid, not noticing the silent exchange.

"What world?"

"DURSLEY!" exploded Hagrid, and all color drained from the faces of the family. But Hagrid didn’t pay much attention to it either, being busy staring wildly at Harry. "But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."

_“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.”_

"What? My — my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?" stumbled Potter, feigning confusion.

"Yeh don' know… Yeh don' know…" Hagrid stared at Harry with his jaw dropped comically and ran fingers through the explosion on his head that was his hair. "Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he mumbled finally. 

"Stop!" intervened Vernon, finally finding his voice. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!" 

The righteous rage once again filled the room, and Harry felt magic stirring inside Hagrid. It was kind of sweet if you think of it. Very annoying, but sweet nonetheless. 

"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years?" drawled the half-giant maliciously, every syllable clear in the stunned silence.

"Kept what from me?" said Harry eagerly. _“Come on, we’re almost there!”_

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in a state of panic, making a step forward and pushing Petunia aside, which made her gasp in horror and grasp her husband’s arm, attempting to pull him back to imaginary safety. With no success, obviously. Harry smirked inwardly at the theatrics.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," growled Hagrid. 

"Harry — yer a wizard."

 _“YES! FINALLY!”_ thought Harry. It’s official now. He didn’t know why he was so glad to hear that statement, truthfully. Not that it was any news. Maybe the joy had more to do with the fact the jimbo got to the point at long last than with the point itself.

Harry allowed silence to stretch for a while, pretending to echo the Dursleys’ shock. 

"I'm a what ?" he gasped after a while. 

"A wizard, o' course, an' a thumpin' good 'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter," said Hagrid, shining proudly, lowered his enormous backside on the poor couch again, and held out a painfully familiar yellowish envelope to Harry. 

Potter took it and flipped around, sighing deeply. He felt trapped. 

The address on the envelope was written in emerald-green ink, the same as the letter inside, Harry remembered. _'To Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea,'_ it said. So they knew the exact spot he slept? Or was it just some magical trick? Probably the latter. Anger boiled inside Potter. Those bastards probably knew all about his ‘homelife’ and did nothing.

No, it won’t help to get mad now.

Harry pulled out the letter and skimmed through it for the second time while trying to calm himself down and not spoil the whole game. He’d get angry when he got to that damned school that seemed unable to continue its existence without Potter and saw the situation for himself.

With his peripheral vision, Harry caught Hagrid staring at him with anticipation. Right, he was supposed to somehow react to the ‘news’. Joy? No, Harry already was feeling dumb enough, thank you very much. Confusion? Hmm, yes, that was better.

"What does it mean, they await my owl?" Potter asked, deciding that an eleven-year-old boy who just found out that magic existed would definitely have quite a few questions, and started with the first one that came to mind.

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," exclaimed Hagrid instead of a reply, smacked his own forehead, and pulled an owl ( _what?!_ ), a long quill, a small bottle of black ink, and a roll of parchment from yet another pocket. He dipped his quill into ink and quickly scrabbled a note that Harry read upside down:

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_ _  
__Given Harry his letter._  
 _Taking him to buy his things tomorrow._ _  
_Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.

 _Hagrid_

_“Well, no turning back now…”_

Hagrid attached the small scroll to the owl, threw it out into the storm, and came back to sit on the couch as if nothing just happened. Poor bird.

Harry gaped at the man like a fish for a few more seconds, just in case, and closed his mouth quickly. 

"Where was I?" asked Hagrid, but didn’t get to add anything more because, at that moment, still very angry Vernon made a second attempt to prove his point and moved forward again, untangling himself from Petunia. 

"He's not going," he stated as firmly as he could. 

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him," grunted Hagrid. 

"A what?" asked Harry, finally starting to enjoy the situation. 

"A Muggle. It's what we call nonmagic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on," explained the half-giant, gesturing towards the Dursleys. Petunia and Dudley paled even more, though it was hard to tell since they both still cowered in the shadows.

"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said the whale sternly, fiercely taping his finger down onto the invisible table, emphasizing each word. "Swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!"

_And let the show begin…_

"You knew?!" exclaimed Harry loudly. "You knew I'm a — a wizard?!" 

Potter prepared himself for the inevitable ‘as if you didn’t, you little freak’, but it never came.

"Knew!" shrieked Petunia instead, scaring Dudley. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that school — and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family! Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as — as — abnormal — and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!" the woman screamed, not even catching her breath. No news here either. But, being in her mind countless times through the years, Harry knew the real reason for Petunia’s anger. She was simply jealous of her sister. Of everything Lily was and Petunia never came to be.

Harry fixed the disheveled woman with a cold glare. "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!" He didn’t really care, to be completely honest, but something had to be said.

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up. He looked like a wild monster about to attack. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!"

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently. This farce needed to be over. Harry was so used to always keeping to himself, never taking part in any conversation, that he already was tired of this one and only wished for the giant to get to the point quicker and finally leave him be.

The look of anger on Hagrid's face suddenly was replaced by sadness and anxiety. 

"I never expected this," he almost whispered. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh — but someone's gotta — yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'." 

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys. 

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it…"

While the man sat down and stared into the fire for a few seconds, preparing to tell the tale, Harry also took a place next to him and slipped back into Hagrid’s mind. He wanted to know what really happened, not the children’s version of the story.

"It begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows…"

Harry only half listened, trying hard to divide his attention more or less evenly. It was not easy to do, and the boy constantly skipped bits of memories and words. But he only needed to remember parts of them, to be able to find the memories faster when he got the chance.

"Who?" Potter prodded when Hagrid trailed off into silence.

"Well — I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does." 

"Why not?" 

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went… bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was…" 

Hagrid opened his mouth, but no words came out. It could’ve amused Harry, had he not been so busy looking through the horror images in the jimbo’s head that were associated with the name. He felt Hagrid’s emotions behind each of them — terror, pain, sadness, doom — all too familiar.

"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested, turning his head to look at the man beside him. 

"Nah — can't spell it. All right — Voldemort." Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches… terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him — an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway,” he paused to take a deep breath. "Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before… Probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side. Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em… Maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' — an'…" 

The images of strangers stopped, and Hagrid's mind was filled with images of a red-haired young woman and a dark-haired man in glasses, who looked somewhat like Harry; a ruined house; a crying man with long dark hair; a blue motorbike. Enormous grieve overwhelmed him, and Harry focused on the present, trying to escape the too-intense feeling. 

"Sorry," said Hagrid. 

_"Sorry? What for?"_

"But it's that sad," the giant continued, "knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find — anyway… You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then — an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even — but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."

Yes, that Harry already saw in the man's mind. The only survival of the Killing curse. The boy sighed. If only he died then…

Harry thought back to his earlier memories. Sometimes when he was younger he dreamed of the blinding green light, and he always wondered what that might be. Now Harry knew. It was the Killing curse that night. And while Harry thought about it, he realized that the image became more clear. And one more detail resurfaced along with it — a voice. A high, cold, cruel laugh echoed inside the boy's mind, sending waves of goosebumps down his back.

Suddenly Harry wished the bastard was alive, so he could show him what the real pain and terror were. 

Diving out of his murderous thoughts, he noticed that Hagrid was watching him with pity, shining in his eyes.

If there was something Harry hated more than the Dursleys, it was pity.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot…" 

"Load of old tosh," said Vernon from behind the couch. Harry had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were even there. A potentially fatal mistake… The whale was glaring at Hagrid with his fists clenched and trembling with tension. 

"Now, you listen here, boy," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured — and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion — asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types — just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end…"

"I'm warning you, Dursley — I'm warning you — one more word…" Hagrid growled threateningly, uncharacteristically gracefully leaping from the couch and pointing a pink umbrella at the Dursley. It definitely was magical, Harry could tell.

Vernon immediately shut up and glued himself to the wall. 

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and returning to his seat. 

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry — I mean, You-Know-Who?" pressed Harry.

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see… he was gettin' more an' more powerful — why'd he go? Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back. Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin' about you stumped him, all right." 

Hmm… That was rather interesting. Harry stored the information for the future. He needed to find out more later. 

"Hagrid," said Potter quietly, continuing his game, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard." 

Hagrid chuckled in response. Right choice, then. 

"Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?" 

Harry looked into the fire, screwing his face in false concentration, but in reality, just staring at dancing flames without a thought. After some time, he looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that the giant was beaming back at him.

It was so hard and uncomfortable — to smile.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry Potter, not a wizard — you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts." 

But it seemed that Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight. Such persistence.

"Haven't I told you he's not going?" he hissed. "He's going to Stonewall High and he'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and…" 

"If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop him," growled Hagrid, moving closer to Vernon. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's son goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. His name's been down ever since he was born. He's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and he won't know himself. He'll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a change, an' he'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled —" 

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Vernon, starting to shake again. Harry watched the scene unfold with amused interest.

Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER!" he thundered, "INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!"

_“Yes, it would be too obvious…”_

Jimbo pointed his umbrella at Dudley, and after a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, and a sharp squeal, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers, and Harry raised an eyebrow at the sight. It seemed he wasn’t alone in considering Dudley a pig.

Vernon grabbed his son and wife and, roaring like a wounded animal (even louder than Dudley), pushed them to the other room, slamming the door shut. 

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard thoughtfully. 

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully.

 _“Well, shouldn’t you have thought about it_ before _you acted?”_

"But it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do," Hagrid added, looking at Harry from under his eyebrows. “Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff — one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job."

_“Yes, I know that, you daft jimbo.”_

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry, though he already knew the answer. 

"Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore. " 

"Why were you expelled?" 

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that." 

He took off his thick black coat and threw it to Harry, who nearly fell to the ground under the weight. 

"You can kip under that," the giant said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' doormice in one o' the pockets."

Oh, how fantastic… 

Harry watched the man lying down on the cold floor and almost immediately starting to snore. Just wonderful. The boy lay down on the couch, covered himself with the now weightless coat to keep up appearances, and looked at the ceiling, listening to the whining in the next room.

How dramatically life had changed in less than a week.

He was famous now. Fucking shit.

Bloody wizarding world… Why did they have to come and ruin everything Harry built throughout the years? It was so not fair.

But then again… When was anything ever fair?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next: The welcoming feast and Harry's first and very important encounter with Albus Dumbledore.**


	2. Ⅰ.9.1.91 What is and what isn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is finally September 1, and Harry Potter arrives at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

# Ⅰ.9.1.91 What is and what isn't

And that day finally came. 

Harry woke up shortly after dawn and was unable to fall back asleep. He was too nervous.

He changed his mind about going to that school a dozen times over the last week only. Surely the whole wizarding world will manage without him just fine. They have the almighty Dumbledore, after all. Yes, most likely Harry will have to leave the Dursleys and go into hiding for years, but at least he'd have his peace. Plus it really wouldn't be a hard fit to accomplish with magic, and Harry was well trained.

So as he stood on the porch, observing how Vernon struggled with his trunk as he loaded it in the car (for some reason…Harry never thought the whale would _ever_ do _anything_ for him) all Potter could think of was _"Why? What the hell am I doing?"_

It wasn't too late to ditch them all and go have a life. Especially if he did it in London. Nobody would ever find him. On the other hand, all that potential knowledge that the magical world has was too much of a temptation. All those books that Harry saw in the Flourish and Blotts…

Sighing, Harry moved to the car. All this better be worth it. 

With a quiet grunt, Potter opened the car door and then paused for the briefest moment. Someone magical was near. Pretending to throw one last nostalgic glance at the place, Harry cautiously looked around the street, his gaze lingering for a few seconds on the corner where the spy stood. But he or she was invisible.

_"Making sure the blessed Harry Potter did not run away, aren't we?"_

If they'd graze him like that all the time, Harry would go mad or kill somebody. He'd have to do something about it and soon because surely a cold-blooded murder would raise questions.

All loaded, the Dursleys and Harry took off to the long road, which went in complete silence. It was amusing how much the family feared him now when Harry was officially aware of his wizarding origins. The pig sat so still, almost not breathing, that one might think he's a statue and not a boy. Petunia constantly turned around to glance at her son quickly, making sure he was not harmed. By the end of the journey, her eyes were red from tears. Harry hated tears.

At half-past ten Harry found himself standing at the entrance of the King's Cross with his trunk and owl cage on the ground before him. The Dursleys' car flew away the moment Vernon climbed inside and closed the door. Good.

Suddenly Harry realized that he wouldn't have to see those ugly faces for almost ten months and grinned. The surge of genuine happiness shot through him for the first time in many years. Yes, tolerating young dunderheads will definitely be worth it.

Ignoring the dull ache in his freshly dislocated shoulder, the boy let the bird out of its cage and told her to fly to Hogwarts, then picked up the now-weightless trunk with the empty cage and went inside the station, instantly feeling magic around him. A third of the crowd there were witches and wizards, and all of them seemed to go in one direction, so Harry easily followed. Not that he'd have any problem with finding the right place without it, after hours spent watching Hagrid's memories.

As logic dictated, the entrance to the platform 9¾ turned out to be between platforms 9 and 10. Harry watched several people go through the barrier. It was an interesting solution. The nerd inside the boy couldn't resist the urge, and Harry found himself sitting at the platform near the barrier and studying it with utter amazement. Layers of magic that were placed on it, their interactions with each other, and with the magic of each man, woman, and kid that walked through were so fascinating that Harry almost lost track of time.

“— packed with Muggles, of course —” sounded somewhere near. The familiar word caught Potter's attention and he begrudgingly snapped out of his observations. He'd have months to study this more closely, Harry reminded himself and got up. The large red-headed family hurriedly passed by him. The mother was frowning and chatting constantly, scolding her sons, but Potter didn't listen. It wasn't important. 

One by one all of them went through the barrier, and Harry followed after just a few seconds. The wizarding platform did not have anything astonishingly different from the muggle ones, besides the fact that it throbbed with magic. Potter felt slightly lightheaded from the sheer amount of it. Near the platform stood an old-fashioned bright red train with kids hanging out of almost every window. They were all happy, and for once, Harry found himself not irritated by it. Strangely enough.

No one recognized him so far, and not wishing to tempt fate, Potter hastily boarded the train, picked the nearest empty compartment, and got settled. 

Harry very rarely traveled by train but he loved it. He loved the atmosphere, the special smell, and the small wiggling of the carriages while on the road. But this particular train felt even more special, and not just because of magic that soaked every inch. It was like he suddenly was in the other century, and the boy wondered if time travel was possible. He should definitely find out and maybe even try.

The compartment was nice. A little dusty and the red plush that covered the seats was worn-out on the edges. The dingy table between seats had definitely seen better days. The name Tom was written on the corner of its surface, then scratched out, and letters 'SB' and 'JP' put underneath. Vandals. If only they knew how hard it is to get rid of those kinda things.

They probably haven't worked a day in their lives.

Suddenly the compartment door swung open, making Harry jerk on his seat, and the twins from that red-headed family that he followed through the barrier, stood on the threshold with confusion on their almost identical faces.

"Sorry, we thought it was empty here," said one.

Potter shrugged through the intensified pain in the shoulder and smiled politely. "No, I'm here." 

Again, he felt like such an idiot, stating the obvious.

The other twin suddenly widened his eyes and elbowed his brother, catching his attention, and then threw a meaningful glance at Harry.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at his forehead.

 _"Here we go…"_ sighed Potter just a moment before the second twin got the message. 

“Blimey,” he said. “Are you — ?” 

“He is,” said the first twin. “Aren’t you?” he added to Harry. 

“What?” 

“Harry Potter!” both of them exclaimed in unison, looking disgustingly hopeful. 

“Oh, him,” Harry replied, disgusted with himself now. “I mean, yes, I am.”

While the two boys stared at him in absolute awe, Potter thought that maybe it wasn't _too_ late to get off the bloody train, all knowledge be damned. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train’s open door. 

“Fred? George? Are you there?” 

“Coming, Mom,” they yelled back, with the last regretful look finally vanishing from sight, and the boy relaxed on his seat. 

It was awful. Harry felt as an animal in a zoo, and the situation was bound to get only worse. And if anyone found out about his true self and powers, he would never see the end of it. So maybe if all of them thought that Harry was nothing special, they'd leave him be. Yes, that's the best chance Harry had. He needed to blend in with the crowd.

But he'd no idea how.

So the only option was to find someone whose lead to follow, some sort of a role model of a typical wizarding child's behavior.

 _Harry Potter needed a friend_. As unbelievably as it sounds.

But first, Harry decided to deal with his shoulder. Vernon did a good job with nearly ripping his arm off yesterday, but Harry was too preoccupied with thoughts about today to care much then. Potter was a lot of things, but 'masochist' wasn't among them. 

Through the open window he heard how the twins excitedly told their family about him. Maybe one of the countless red-headed children would suffice as a friend. Not a bad idea.

The train whistled and slowly began to move. It rounded a corner and then speeded up. Houses and trees flashed past the window. Harry felt dread raising up in his chest. He didn’t know what he was going to — but judging by the information he gathered so far, it was bound to be worse than what he left behind.

But Harry didn't have time to dwell on it. The compartment door opened again, interrupting his healing, and one the red-heads came in. The youngest boy, Potter supposed. 

“Anyone sitting there?” he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry. “Everywhere else is full.”

 _"My ass it's full,"_ thought Potter. _"You're a terrible liar, young sir."_

But deciding not to antagonize the potential friend that so easily and willingly came, Harry shook his head. The red-head immediately plopped on the seat, his eyes automatically searching Harry's forehead. 

_"Oh, please, do stare at me…"_

Speeding up the healing of his shoulder, Harry tried to look as innocent as he possibly could. The process required a lot of focus, and he didn't want to seem strange to the other boy, or miss some of his words. 

As if sensing Harry's thought, the red-head averted his gaze and even blushed a little bit. Ha.

This time Potter noticed the twins nearing the compartment before they barged in. 

“Hey, Ron,” they said. “Listen, we’re going down the middle of the train — Lee Jor-dan’s got a giant tarantula down there.” 

“Right,” mumbled Ron in response, looking down at his shoes. 

“Harry,” said the other twin, proudly raising his chin, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.” George pointed first at his twin, then at himself, and then at their younger brother to indicate who is who, smiled, and then slid out of the door, with Harry and Ron's "bye" echoing after them. 

Harry looked expectantly at his schoolmate, as if inviting him to get this over with. 

“Are you really Harry Potter?” Ron blurted out, taking the clue. 

Harry nodded. 

“Oh — well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George’s jokes,” said Ron. “And have you really got — you know… ” And he pointed at Harry's forehead.

_"Oh, for the love of God…"_

Harry lifted his newly healed arm to pull back his bangs, showing the blasted scar, and then watched with raising annoyance how Ron foolishly and shamelessly gaped at him for a long moment. _“Imbecile…”_

"So that's where You-Know-Who…"

"Yes," said Harry a bit too harshly, but Ron didn’t seem to notice, "but I can't remember it."

It was a lie. Since the giant jimbo’s visit last month, Harry tried a few times to dig out the full memory of that day. It was a mystery that he _could_ solve. He was successful for the most part, but knowing how little he was when it all happened, there wasn’t much to even hope for finding.

But Weasley didn’t need to know that.

"Nothing?" the red-head asked, ineptly fishing for details. His eyes shone like a christmas tree.

"Well…” Harry decided to indulge the boy a little to show his willingness to form a friendship. He remembered from some books he read and from his observations of other kids in his old school that friends were supposed to share information with each other. “I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow," breathed Ron, bulging his eyes for several seconds and then hastily turned to the window again. Harry could see the wheels oh so slowly spinning in the boy’s head as the pieces fell into the right places with a soft cling. This would be funny, if it wasn't so sad. Harry pressed the urge to roll his eyes and drop the act. If all his schoolmates were so daft, he was in for seven years of torture.

 _“Get it together, man!”_ he scolded himself.

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry after a minute, attempting to divert the conversation from him.

"Er… Yes, I think so," replied Ron. "I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

Judging by the blush the boy sported right now, he obviously didn’t, but Harry just couldn’t resist the temptation of having a little fun.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron, abruptly changing the subject, which nearly made Harry smirk. "What are they like?"

"Horrible,” he deadpanned. “Well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."

"Five," said Ron, his face fell. He definitely didn’t like being the youngest of them. Harry listened to his whining about the rest of the Weasley children in astonishment. If he only knew what it's like to have absolutely nothing and no one, if he’d spend a _day_ the way Harry spent his entire life, he’d realize what a pile of bullshit all his complaints were. Stupid child. Anger and revulsion rose in Potter’s chest, but he quickly stomped the feelings down. They wouldn’t help in the slightest.

Suddenly Harry needed Ron to understand. He obviously was a good kid, and it was not the boy’s fault that he didn’t know how much he had. So Harry told him some things about him. About poverty, Dudley’s clothes, birthday presents (or lack thereof). Nothing truly big or shocking, but something an eleven-year-old Ron would still consider significant.

It seemed to cheer the boy up a bit. Of course, what would make one feel better, if not the knowledge that the other had it worse.

"...and until Hagrid told me, I didn’t know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort —”

Ron's eyes widened again. 

“What?” asked Harry, trying to look confused, though he knew perfectly 'what'.

“You said You-Know-Who’s name!” exclaimed Weasley, sounding both shocked and impressed. “I’d have thought you, of all people —” 

“I’m not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name,” replied Harry, “I just never knew you shouldn’t. See what I mean? I’ve got loads to learn… I bet…” he added, trying to come up with something to say to even the ground, “I bet I’m the worst in the class.” 

A ridiculous notion, of course. Harry could've easily passed the final exams of the year right on the welcoming feast. He read all his textbooks already, and because of the mental discipline that he developed over the years, Harry didn't need to memorize the material. He could just find the right memory. And it's only the theoretical part. In practice, Potter didn't need any of that theory to make things work. He just did them. 

“You won’t be. There’s loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough.”

The conversation thankfully died down after that. Harry stared at the window, thinking about Ron. The boy was a poor choice for a friend, he realized it now. Yes, maybe he was a good kid, but it didn't matter, since they seem to have nothing in common and therefore nothing to talk about. Harry already started to regret the promise that he had made to himself to not venture into the minds of everyone he encountered since it would have allowed him to come to this conclusion a lot faster. But entering minds left and right might simply be dangerous because Harry had no way of knowing if the person had any protection or any means of discovering the intrusion.

Secrecy was above all.

Ron was completely harmless and inept in that regard, so Harry fought with himself for several minutes to press down the urge to look in.

But then he supposed that he wouldn't have much to talk about with anyone of his peers, so did it really matter which one of them he chose?

Around half-past twelve, they were disturbed again by the mid-age woman with tired eyes and mostly fake smiles who slid back their door and asked if they wanted something from her cart. Harry threw a glance at the longing expression on Weasley's face, remembering that it was common among friends to share those kinds of things, and decided that it would be prudent to use this situation to his advantage. 

Harry went out into the corridor where the trolley witch stood waiting for him and eyed the strange assortment. He didn't want anything, to be honest, and none of the sweets caught his eye, so he took a bit of everything, not caring how much it would cost him. If it does the trick with Ron, it would be worth it. 

Luckily, the plan worked exactly as Harry wanted, and the two of them spent the next hour or so bonding over sweets. Dumb and demeaning waste of time, in Potter's opinion, he'd prefer to read or work on his magic instead, but there wasn't much choice. So he stuck an innocent smile to his face, buried all true thoughts and feelings of the matter deep inside his mind, and went with it.

Harry needed to get used to this if he's to pretend to be normal. 

_"At least at the Dursleys, no one noticed me…"_ Potter sighed, while Ron was busy shoving yet another sweet in his mouth and paid no attention to Harry. 

He never thought he'd miss his life with the family.

At the very least not so soon.

The rest of the train ride went pretty much the same way. There were several minor interruptions by other first-years, but aside from that — nothing extraordinary. The round-faced boy, a rather lost one, as it seemed to Harry, came in twice looking for his lost toad (ironically enough), one time with a bushy-haired girl, Hermione Granger. A quite bossy little thing, and arrogant too, but at least she shared his passion for knowledge, which made her Harry's favorite so far. His least favorite compartment visitor was the blond that Harry met last month in Diagon Alley. _That_ little shit was so full himself, Harry barely managed not to show him, along with his two moronic 'bodyguards', what it's like to mess with Potter, secrecy be damned.

Harry hoped he wouldn't end up in the same house with _them_ … his restraint was already under too much pressure.

It was getting dark outside, and Potter presumed they were getting close. 

“We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately," a deep male voice suddenly echoed through the train, confirming Harry's thoughts. The two boys quickly donned their robes and made their way to the exit. Harry was not comfortable with leaving his trunk behind, but as always, no choice was available. He made sure to place a few more layers of protection on it, though. Anyone who tried to open the trunk would miss their arms for the rest of their lives. 

And Harry did not mean it as a reversible prank.

Ron pushed his way out of the train onto the tiny dark platform. There were over a hundred over-excited mostly brainless kids here. Was it so hard to at least hang a street lamp or something?

Then, as if on Harry’s order, a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

Potter smiled automatically at Hagrid's big hairy beaming face and nodded.

He was quickly becoming quite good at it.

That thought made him smirk proudly. Yes, he can do this. It was like a game or a theater play with The-Boy-Who-Lived as the main character. A little different from his usual repertoire, but all the more interesting. Who would want to be stuck with one role for a lifetime, right?

"C'mon, follow me. Any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years, follow me!" boomed the jimbo over the noise of the crowd and immediately turned around, making his way into the darkness. Forty students quickly stumbled after him down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. Thankfully, everybody kept quiet, too afraid to speak. It allowed Harry to better study his surroundings. As far as he remembered, Hogsmeade was the only totally wizarding village in the whole country, and the evidence to that was apparent. The magic here felt older than any that Potter had ever encountered before. It filled even the air and the ground. Every tree, every bush, every grass-blade, every stone effused magic. It was head-spinning.

Harry dreaded and anticipated at the same time to know what Hogwarts’ magic felt like.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec, jus' round this bend here," called Hagrid over his shoulder and pointed somewhere ahead of him.

One by one, all students came to a halt on the edge of a Black lake and made noises of shock and fascination. Harry stood between Ron and some other boy and quietly looked at the other side of the lake where perched atop a high mountain, stood an enormous castle with many turrets and towers, its windows sparkling in the starry sky. Potter saw that image in Hagrid’s mind a month ago, remembered the excitement and anxiety that tightened the chest of the young half-giant at this moment. He glanced around and saw those emotions mirrored on the faces of his classmates now. The view _was_ breathtaking and all, but Harry was unable to feel the same. To them all Hogwarts represented the future and possibilities, for Harry… He had a gut feeling that he’s making a huge mistake. That if he steps inside that castle, he’ll condemn himself for a life in another circle of hell, way worse than usual. And with each passing second that feeling only got stronger.

The silence that hung among them in the cold pitch-black night seemed ominous, and the magic that swarmed around did not raise any joy in the boy anymore.

"Right then. No more'n four to a boat!" grunted Hagrid, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry took a last deep breath, turned away from the view, and resolutely followed Ron to his doom.

"Everyone in?" shouted jimbo a minute later from the first boat, which he occupied all by himself. "Right then. FORWARD!"

They started to move. Potter felt the exact moment when the fleet crossed the border of the school grounds. The impact with what he assumed was some protective line was bloody _heavy_. Harry jerked on his seat, nearly falling into the water because of the sudden wave of shock, buzzing through his entire body. Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes briefly and tried to clear his head but to no effect. Hogwarts’ magic was so goddamn strong, it was hard to even concentrate properly. Thoughts bogged down and mixt inside his head, all his nerves went on a high alert, magic roaming throughout his body, prickling, tickling him to the point when it became painful. And the closer to the castle they got, the more unbearable the sensation was.

In a moment of true desperation, Potter pushed through the mental fog and went all the way down to the deepest layers of his mind, and only then he was able to breathe freely. Harry gave himself three seconds to gather the strength to resurface and then started his journey back, locking the unwanted sensations away on his way up and lowering his awareness of magic around to a minimum. As a result, he felt numb but at least he could function.

The next moment he noticed that the boats were in some narrow tunnel, already nearly reached a kind of underground harbor, where they all were told to climb out.

As people did as instructed, Hagrid went to check the boats. "Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" he yelled, bending over the last one.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. 

_“Dumbass…”_ sighed Potter to himself.

A few voices giggled and the boy with a toad blushed furiously under the light of Hagrid’s lamp. Poor sod. Life would be hard for him. _“Maybe I should befriend him too.”_

Where did _that_ come from?

Then finally after walking through a stone passageway and a flight of stone steps, they all crowded around the huge, oak front door and the giant addressed them again:

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Everyone nodded, Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door, which immediately swung open, showing a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes. Minerva McGonagall, as far as Harry remembered. Deputy headmistress, Gryffindor Head of a house, and a Transfigurations professor. Stern but fair.

_She’s the one who usually sends the letters in summer._

Anger started boiling inside Harry, but it was easy to ignore because of the numbness.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid proudly.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here," replied the witch and pulled the door wide, letting the kids in. 

The entrance hall was simply huge. But Harry didn’t pay much attention to it because the new wave of magic hit him hard, nearly destroying the shaky control over himself the boy just gained a few minutes ago. This time though Potter was prepared for this possibility and the second fight did not require so much effort.

Potter followed McGonagall and the rest of the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall on autopilot, and came to a halt when he bumped into someone ahead of him.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said the professor. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while…” Harry turned her drawling voice off and just stared at the woman. As she slowly swept her gaze over all students before her, she seemed content and calm, collected. Definitely in her usual element. Harry could bet, she has been repeating that same speech every year for many-many years already.

Potter tried to catch the woman’s eyes to take a quick look inside her mind and find out how much she knew about his situation, but McGonagall didn’t make eye contact with him even once.

"I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly," she said at last and vanished through the door.

Harry was starting to become nervous.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron to distract himself.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Didn’t help.

But when several people behind him suddenly screamed, making his heart drop, all thoughts about McGonagall and her potential knowledge left Harry’s head.

"What the-" _‘fuck,’_ almost blurred the boy but managed to shut himself up in time and turned around to see the reason for the commotion. 

_“Bloody fucking ghosts!”_

Harry gasped to keep up with his part of the play, and so did the people around him. They all gaped at the transparent figures with open mouths and listened to their conversation.

After five minutes or so McGonagall came back, told them to form a line, and led everyone to the Great Hall.

Walking in, Harry did his best to gawk around as everyone else did in what he hoped was awe. The place was overdone a tad for his liking, but Potter decided that The-Boy-Who-Lived would’ve loved it. The Great Hall was approximately the same size as the Entrance Hall and was lit by countless candles, floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. _Staring_. At the opposite side of the hall on a dais stood another long table with teachers, who were also staring but not quite so obvious. Some of them had a kind of patronizing smile on their faces, which was only worse if you ask Harry. The boy wanted to get a closer look at professors, especially at the one in ridiculous robes in the middle and another in black who seemed to follow his every movement with a blank gaze. Harry knew that gaze, have seen it many times in the mirror. But McGonagall lined them up near the dais, facing the other students, so the teachers were sitting behind them, which made Harry postpone his endeavor for some time. Hundreds of faces stared at them in eager anticipation, and once again Harry felt like an animal in the zoo. To avoid prying eyes, Potter looked up at the famous enchanted ceiling.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History," whispered Hermione somewhere to his right.

When McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years and put the Sorting Hat on top of it, Harry tore his gaze away from the stars, shining above calmly, and looked at the Hat that started its song. Some nonsense about houses or something like that. It didn’t really matter. The Hat itself was far more fascinating than stupid poetry. It was old, very old. Maybe the same age as the castle, more or less, and contained far more magic than any other occupant of the room. The object obviously was sentient, and Potter wondered how it happened. Was it the result of some complicated spell or something else?

He supposed he’d find out soon enough.

When the song ended, the whole hall burst into applause, Harry included, though for the life of him he couldn’t understand what for. The Hat bowed to each of the four tables and then became still again as if someone switched it off.

Weasley whispered something about trolls, and Harry just smiled in response, since he didn’t hear the rest of the words.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," said McGonagall, theatrically holding up a parchment. And it started.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

While the named girl dragged herself towards the stool, all of a sudden, Potter realized the significance of this moment. He just couldn’t let some hat decide his fate. 

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the Hat.

_“Well, Hufflepuff is out, obviously.”_

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit with them.

"Bones, Susan!"

_“So it’s either Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin.”_

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the Hat again somewhere in the background.

"Boot, Terry!"

Mulling over everything he knew about each of the three houses, Harry came to a conclusion that Ravenclaw would be interesting for _him_ (even if highly unlikely — he had no doubts in his intellect, but his surviving instinct was much more prevalent, he suspected for some reason) but not for The-Boy-Who-Lived, Slytherin wasn’t an option either because it would raise unwanted questions and suspicions (though Harry knew that house would be perfect), which left him stuck with Gryffindor...

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the Hat, and Granger jumped from the stool, rushing toward her table.

Longbottom was also sent to Gryffindor to Harry’s surprise. He’d have thought the boy to be a Hufflepuff.

Morag MacDougal became a Ravenclaw.

Malfoy went to Slytherin, along with his thick friends Crabbe and Goyle. How Harry envied the little asshole…

Lily Moon joined Hufflepuff, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson — Slytherin, Padma Patil became Ravenclaw, her sister Parvati — Gryffindor, Sally-Anne Perks also went to the lions, and then, at last...

"Potter, Harry!" cried out McGonagall a little louder than the previous names.

Harry stepped forward, doing all he could to ignore the annoying whispers that filled the Great Hall after a moment of dead silence. He could feel hundreds of eyes burning holes through him and wanted nothing more than to wipe them all from existence.

He perched the stool and the next second the hat was placed on his head, covering his eyes. Good, he did not have any desire to view those stupid faces staring at him. 

When the Hat was on him, it's magic seemed even more strong, and for a moment Harry's head started spinning. He grabbed the edges of the stool to prevent himself from falling.

Coming back to his senses quickly, Harry felt the Hat trying to penetrate his mind and pushed it away reflexively. 

"Hmm," a dry whisper rustled in the boy's ear after a moment. "Quite a strong one, aren't you?

Harry tried to reach with his magic to that of the Hat but also was met with resistance. With enough effort, he could've broken it, but Potter decided to be nicer first. He allowed the Hat access to the top layer of his mind. 

_"I need you to sort me into Gryffindor,"_ he asked mentally. 

_"I cannot sort you without knowing your mind and your abilities,"_ replied the stupid clothing. 

Harry sighed, starting to get frustrated.

_"i will not let you roam in my mind. Sort me into Gryffindor while I'm asking nicely, and let's be done with it."_

Harry's words were followed with silence, and the Hat stubbornly tried to penetrate the boy's mind again. He made another futile attempt to merge their magic in response.

_"From what I see, you'd be perfect in Slytherin, boy."_

Harry did not like to be called 'boy', and the Hat chuckled.

 _"Oh, you think so?"_ he bit back sarcastically. _"I need to be sorted into Gryffindor."_

Pushing with all his might Harry finally was able to touch the ancient magic, even if only for a moment. The Hat jerked on his head from the impact, and immediately hissed:

 _"Fine! Fine, have it your way! But know that Slytherin would've been perfect for you, boy, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. No? Well, if you're_ sure… _better be_ GRYFFINDOR!" the last word was shouted aloud for everyone to hear. 

Sighing with relief, Harry took off the hat and walked toward the Gryffindor table. He was getting the loudest cheer yet, but didn't care at the moment. He studied the faces of other students, trying to determine their reactions. Gryffindors were beyond joyful, some looked cathartic, the dunderheads. None of the other houses seemed surprised, so Harry exhaled another sigh of relief that he made the right choice. 

The Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" on the whole hall. But knowing himself, Harry couldn't discern just _why_ on earth they all were so happy. 

Even the Gryffindor ghost looked pleased with the famous Potter joining the house.

Harry was definitely _not_ pleased with him showing that appreciation though. His arm felt as if after being pinned with icy needles.

And now, finally, after he sat down, he could properly see the High Table. He smiled back at the giant who was seated at the left end of the Head table but otherwise ignored him. The boy's eyes traveled to the center where in a throne-like golden chair sat Albus Dumbledore in his ridiculous bright purple robes and with his ridiculously long white and shiny beard. The man wore a small polite smile and looked amiably at every student, clapping a little each time someone was sorted. All his appearance screamed 'trust me', which made Harry's stomach flip. He knew instantly that he should be wary of that particular wizard and his 'grandfather' act.

On Dumbledore's right sat another figure that caught Harry's attention earlier. Severus Snape, head of Slytherin, potions master. He didn't look at Potter, which allowed the boy to study him for a moment. The man was young, one of the youngest staff members as far as Harry could tell, but he definitely held a high enough position in the school hierarchy to be occupying the chair in which, logically, McGonagall should be sitting. He was the only unmoving figure at the table, still and impassive as a marble statue. Harry had a strong suspicion that the man was quite adept in mind magic. He himself would look the same way if he hasn't been constantly making a conscious effort not to.

Flicking his eyes back to Dumbledore, Harry caught his gaze for a second. What happened next, Potter would regret for years afterwards.

A sudden tugging at the edge of the top layer of his mind startled him, and he slammed down the shields that he practiced for the whole last month for exactly those kinds of situations.

Confusion crossed Dumbledore's face for a brief moment as the two of them stared at each other. The boy's heart sank.

He'd been discovered within the first half-hour he spent here. 

The hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" and several seconds later, Ron collapsed on the seat next to Harry, beaming happily.

Potter smiled right back, though there probably wasn't much point to it now. Surely Dumbledore was able to put two and two together. 

"Well done, Ron, excellent," praised another Weasley with a Prefect badge. 

The sorting was over, McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat and the stool away.

Dumbledore rose to his feet and beamed, opening his arms wide, and Harry forced himself to look at the man as if nothing happened, acting like he was interested in the upcoming speech.

He wasn't.

The only thing that Harry cared for at the moment was what the hell he's going to do now. 

But thinking about it wouldn't be very useful in the current situation, so the boy locked all worries about the headmaster away, not allowing himself to dwell on them in front of the whole school. 

"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" said Dumbledore and sat back down. 

_"What in God's name was that?"_

"Is he… a bit mad?" be leaned on the table and asked the prefect over the cheers of the rest of the school.

Another small wave of magic washed over him. 

"Mad?" exclaimed Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

He glanced down. The table broke with food and Harry found himself at a loss. He saw feasts before (not as big as this one but still), he cooked feasts before, but not once he was allowed to partake. He ate what Petunia gave him, not particularly caring what exactly it was (he cooked it, so the food was definitely safe to eat), so now, when he needed to choose, Harry didn't know what to do.

He piled a bit of mashed potatoes with steak on his plate and slowly ate. It was tasty, Harry had to admit, but he liked his own cooking better. 

"That does look good," said Nearly Headless Nick sadly, watching Harry.

"Can't you… ?"

 _Dumb question, of course, he can't."_ But it was the only stupid thing that came into the boy's mind. Potter observed that all his peers seemed to be asking them rather a lot. Probably because they never thought before speaking.

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," replied the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" cried Ron suddenly, showering everyone who was unfortunate enough to sit near with potatoes from his mouth. _Disgusting_. "My brothers told me about you. You're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy…" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

The conversation with the ghost continued for quite some time until the remains of dinner vanished, and the desert appeared instead. 

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart (it was closer), the talk turned to their families, and the boy inwardly smirked, wondering what all those faces would look like if he told them about _his_. 

_"Ugh. Not helping…"_

Shutting his treacherous self up, Potter tried to listen to everyone to gain a better understanding of the people he'd be living with for the next seven years.

Seamus Finnegan did not impress him. He seemed too headstrong for Harry's liking. The way he talked and laughed was too harsh, too forced, too for show. 

Dean Thomas was quiet and almost shy, but the boy was drawn to Finnegan like a magnet, he literally looked Seamus in the mouth, devouring all his words. Harry didn't like it. 

Longbottom was too shy for his own sake, but after his childhood stories, Potter saw why the Hat sorted him here. The boy _had_ a backbone. He was just too afraid to act on it. Maybe with a little coaxing, Neville would be able to find it in himself too. Potter didn't know why, but he genuinely liked that boy. 

Weasley was… Well, Weasley. Harry couldn't even look at him right now, wary of his reaction to the boy's abysmal table manners. Not that Harry ever cared much about etiquette or anything like that, but at least he _knew_ how to eat with his mouth closed.

Other Weasleys didn't seem to have this problem, and for that Potter was grateful. The twins were the most tolerable Weasley kids Harry acquainted so far, but their penchant for all things funny did not bode well with him.

The prefect was too pompous and too full of himself, so he better hope that Harry would be able to just ignore him.

Granger was a show-off and a know-it-all. Harry was fine with the second, but first… The girl would have a hard time finding any friends, Potter knew it. Such a pity though. He'd befriended her too (if she stopped being so bloody insufferable), but The-Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't, so…

Other girls from his year split into pairs already and sat chatting with each other. But if Perks and Roper obviously had a normal amiable conversation, Brown and Patil definitely _gossiped_ . They were throwing sideways glances in all directions and giggled like mad. If _that_ wasn't an indication of brain damage, Harry didn't know what was.

Tired of watching students, Harry looked up at the High Table one more time, careful not to catch anyone's direct gaze. Dumbledore was talking to McGonagall and paid Harry no mind. Snape was doing all he could to ignore Quirrell's stuttering, but the fool just wouldn't get it. Others were also chatting among themselves and laughing quietly. 

Come to think of it, Quirinus Quirrell was a shady character. Harry couldn't point his finger on it, but the feeling that something wasn't right with the man didn’t leave Potter since Diagon Alley. 

A few things happened at once, very suddenly. Quirrell abandoned his attempts to talk to Snape and turned to Sprout who was sitting at his other side, Snape looked straight into Harry's eyes, and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Potter's forehead.

The boy expected another intrusion in his mind, but the man just looked at him, his eyes harder than a moment before. Severus Snape definitely did not worship The-Boy-Who-Lived as all others did, and strangely, Harry felt a pang of gratitude toward the man because of it.

But where the hell that pain came from? For as long as Harry remembered himself, the scar had never bothered him. Not once. This was strange. Very strange.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked the prefect, whose name turned out to be Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to. Everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Hmm, new information. Harry stored it carefully for later, watched Snape for another long moment, and then turned back to his dessert. 

"Ahem… Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you," said Dumbledore, standing again. "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. 

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Bloody hilarious. Amazing school. 

The rest of the evening went peaceful enough. After the feast and ridiculous singing, Percy escorted all first-years to the Gryffindor tower and directed them to their respective dormitories.

Harry lay in his new soft bed unable to fall asleep. He wasn't the least bit tired, even the numbness he still felt didn't help. So Potter decided to not waste time thrashing in bed and work on adjusting to the amount of magic around instead. He knew he couldn't go like he had today for seven years. Not to mention, it defied the whole purpose of getting to the damn school in the first place. 

Potter lay down on top of the covers and closed his eyes, diving deeper and deeper into his mind until he reached the magical core. Magic instantly engulfed him, and Harry sighed in relief. How he missed that! The boy had no idea how much he was used to its warm gentle swarming and buzzing inside until it stopped. Switching it on full force probably wasn't a good idea though, and Harry decided to do it gradually, hoping to get to his normal state in a week at most. He didn't know how much time had passed, but finally, Harry was able to fall asleep peacefully for the rest of the night.

The next day was even worse than the Welcoming feast because all those people who couldn't do more than stare at him yesterday, today (aside from foolishly gaping at him on every turn) were _whispering_ behind his back or even _approaching_ him and tried to _talk_ , asking bloody questions.

Navigating in the damn castle was hard enough without having to deal with dozens of dunderheads. It was fucking nerve-wracking.

The classes were boring. Harry knew everything that they tried to teach them already and spent the whole time observing everyone and adjusting to the castle's magic a bit more.

On transfiguration, he finally was able to penetrate McGonagall's mind and found out that all she knew about him or the Dursleys was that they weren't the type of people she'd be glad to be acquainted with. Nor did she spend an awful lot of time checking the addresses to which the letters were sent. Not exactly professional, but Harry guessed that with the amount of work the woman had to do every day it wasn't really surprising that she overlooked something. Or, more likely, _was overlooking_. Consciously.

On the way to dinner (with Weasley in tow, as was Harry's 'normal' now) the two boys were suddenly stopped. 

"Khm, Mr. Potter." 

At the sound of the headmaster's voice, Harry turned around and looked at the old man. 

"I'd like to have a word with you after dinner," he smiled kindly, looking Potter in the eyes. Harry felt another intrusion, but this time he was ready for it. His shields were strong but invisible. No one would be able to see a damn thing. The real thing, that is.

Judging by the confusion in Dumbledore's eyes, the trick with hiding memories behind memories worked perfectly, and Harry allowed himself a small smirk.

"Of course, sir," Potter replied politely. Headmaster's eyes twinkled, the man nodded and went on his way, leaving the boys in the corridor. 

"Wow," gaped Weasley. "What do you reckon he wants?" 

"No idea, Ron. I guess I'll find out soon enough."

They stood there for a few more seconds and then continued moving to the Great Hall. This time it didn't take as long as this morning or midday to find it. Though, if Harry was alone, he'd skipped all the 'getting lost' part, since he memorized the location of all classrooms, corridors, staircases, and halls he's been today, and there always was a portrait on the wall, or a ghost, or another student he could ask for directions in case he needed to go some new place.

But all others were struggling, and so Harry pretended to do the same. He wanted to _blend in_ , after all.

Ron was talking some nonsense all the way to dinner, and while they ate too. Quidditch tryouts, homework assignments, quidditch tryouts, freaking staircases, quidditch, Peeves, quidditch, quidditch, quidditch… Harry started to _hate_ the bloody game.

Especially now, when all he could think of was Dumbledore's invitation.

By the time Harry finished the dessert, his gut was clenched with anxiety he hasn't felt for years. In a haze, he stood up, said goodbye to Weasley, and went out of the hall, his legs carrying him on their own accord until Harry suddenly realized that he didn't even know where the damn head office was…

The boy looked around.

He didn't even know where the fuck _he_ was now. 

_"Just perfect…"_

But the portrait at the end of the corridor certainly did, so Harry strolled to it. 

"I'm so sorry to bother you, ma'am," said Harry politely to the young woman painted in the frame, and she looked up from the book in her hands. "You see, it's my first day at school, and I'm afraid, I got lost a little. Could you please help me find the headmaster's office?" 

The woman tilted her head to the right, eyeing him, and for a moment Harry thought that she wouldn't reply, but after nearly half a minute she smiled and spoke very softly: "That is no trouble. Go further to the end of the corridor, find a staircase behind the tapestry with a big waterfall, go up two flights of stairs, and to the right. The headmaster's office is guarded by a sweet gargoyle."

Harry thanked her and hurriedly went to the pointed direction. Five minutes later, he found himself standing in front of the gargoyle. It was definitely the right place since he could sense Dumbledore's magic on the statue. Not troubled with the lack of password, Potter commanded it to let him in. There wasn't any point in pretending that he couldn't anymore.

The gargoyle slid aside at once, revealing an archway in the wall. Harry took one deep cleansing breath and went in. The man was inside, he could feel it even without his senses being on their usual level, which meant that Albus Dumbledore was indeed a God damn strong wizard. Not to be messed with.

The moving staircase brought Potter up to the plain wooden door, and not wishing to seem nervous or uncertain, Harry immediately knocked.

"Enter," sounded from the other side. 

The boy went inside the noisy room and strode to the chair beside the desk, placed a hand on its back, and met Dumbledore's eyes with confidence he did not really feel. 

"You wanted to see me, professor?" 

The older man held Harry's gaze for a long moment and then nodded, pointing to a chair. 

"Why don't you take a seat, Mr. Potter?" 

He looked so serious. No twinkling, no kind smiles, no grandfather attitude, just a very old and very powerful man with a long history behind bright blue eyes. Harry could tell, there was a man with an agenda in front of him. A man who wanted something from him and who was unlikely to stop until he got it.

The boy sat down but kept silent, waiting for the other to make the first step. It didn't take long. 

"I must confess, you surprised me, my boy." 

"Please, sir, if I may. I'd appreciate it if you could refrain from calling me that."

Dumbledore measured him with another long glance and dipped his head slightly.

"As I've said, you surprised me. Twice, actually." 

It was Harry's turn to nod.

"I don't think there's any point in pretending that either of us does not understand the point of this meeting," said the man quietly. "You are quite a unique wizard, Mr. Potter. I haven't ever seen an eleven-year-old occlumens that strong. Truthfully speaking, I haven't seen an eleven-year-old occlumens at all. It makes me wonder what else you are capable of."

_"Occlumency then. Good to know the name."_

"No offense, sir, but what makes you think that I'd share it with you? Or anybody."

Harry would not tell a damn thing until he was one hundred percent sure there's absolutely no way to avoid it. All his instincts screamed to be cautious. 

Dumbledore leaned on the table, entwining his fingers.

"I am on your side in this, Harry, you can trust me," he said with a slightly softened expression on the face.

"On my side in _what_ exactly?" replied Potter, daring the old man to weasel his way out of answering truthfully. 

Dumbledore was silent for a little while. "I don't think-" 

"Then I have nothing to tell you." 

The man sighed, and Harry felt yet another intrusion in his mind. He pushed the headmaster out easily. "This will not get you anywhere," Potter growled quietly. "Didn't you get it the first two times?" 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter." 

_"The hell you are."_

"Is there anything else? I have a lot of homework to do, sir. Wouldn't want to fall behind in assignments from the start."

Dumbledore's eyes hardened again, as he felt Harry slipping between his fingers. "It can wait for an hour or so, I am sure. How about we take turns asking questions?"

Harry stood up. "With all due respect, sir, I won't play games with you. Have a pleasant evening." 

With a nod, the boy turned on his heels and marched towards the door. 

"There's a war on our doorstep Harry. A war in which you already have played a huge part." 

It made Potter stop with his hand on the doorknob. "Voldemort?" he asked, turning around. 

"I'm afraid so. And it won't let go of you just because you want it to. I too wish that there would be another way, Harry, but there isn't."

Harry stood stiffly, cursing himself. He just _knew_ he shouldn't have come here. He fucking _knew it_ ! Anger boiled inside of the boy, but this time it was directed at himself. _Damn curiosity._

"Why?" he asked harshly, raising his gaze to meet Dumbledore's. "What can I possibly do that you can't? I'm _eleven_ , for God's sake!" exclaimed the boy.

"That's why I asked you to come. To find out," replied the headmaster calmly.

"I will not be a part of any war," said Harry evenly. "The fact that the man vanished attempting to kill me does not mean anything. I did not do a damn thing back then, and I'm refusing to lift a finger now."

"But people will die, Harry…" 

The boy smirked coldly. "Do I look like I care?"

Dumbledore's face fell even more. Harry supposed it was hard to find an argument against _that_. But, sweet potato, how wrong he was.

"Take a seat, Mr. Potter," there was an undeniable authority in the man's voice now, and Harry found himself complying, albeit begrudgingly.

"How about some tea?"

The boy shook his head. 

"Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you." 

"As you wish. Now, Harry, I understand your unwillingness to participate in the upcoming war, I do,” he spoke softly. “But I’m afraid it is _you_ who doesn’t understand that we simply do not have a choice here. As I’ve said, you already _are_ a big part of it and if my assumptions are correct, you _will be_ a part even bigger.”

Harry kept silent, his face hard.

“Let me explain…”

_“That’s what I’ve been expecting from you since the start, you old fool.”_

“...divination?”

The boy tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Most of the people who claim to be a seer are frauds, of course. But there are some who are not. I’ve heard only one true prediction in all my years, Harry, and that prediction was about you.”

 _“Great,”_ Potter sighed and motioned for Dumbledore to continue.

“You are the only one who can vanquish the Dark Lord, Hary.”

“Still, it doesn’t mean that I _have to_ , because I don’t.”

“Oh but it does, Harry. It does. Because, you see, Tom — that’s Voldemort’s real name — knows that prophecy too. He knows that you’re a threat, maybe an only real threat, and will pursue you until only one of you is left.”

_Bloody perfect. “This is too surreal.”_

“Prove it,” said Harry simply, crossing his arms and leaning back on the chair. “How am I to know that you didn’t just come up with it?”

Dumbledore fell silent, thinking the request over. He didn’t expect the boy to be _that_ proficient with magic, though he hoped Harry would be stronger than his peers, there’s no denying that. And when he asked the boy to come to his office, he didn’t expect him to be quite so self-sufficient and cunning either. Never in all his years, Albus Dumbledore had so much trouble recruiting someone. And the more he observed the boy, the more he was sure that without him everything would be lost.

The simplest way to prove his words would be a wand oath, but Dumbledore left it as a last resort. He’d no wish to give away control of himself in any manner to anyone. _He_ was always the one controlling things, and the man desperately needed a way to control Harry too. But he’ll think about it later.

That did not leave him with many options though.

“Who else knows about it?” suddenly asked Harry, solving the problem.

“There are only four people who know about the existence of the prophecy, five now. Tom Riddle, myself, professor McGonagall, since she was my right hand in the previous war, my spy in Riddle’s ranks, and you, of course.”

“Spy?” asked Harry, quirking an eyebrow. 

“A double spy, to be precise, because Tom thinks him to be his man. You understand, Harry, that I cannot reveal to you any information about that person. At least until I know more about you and your abilities, it would be too dangerous, and I’ve no wish to risk my spy’s position and life.”

He didn’t have to. Harry already had a pretty good idea of _who_ that person was. He dropped the subject for now.

So McGonagall again, huh… Well, that certainly made things easier.

Dumbledore watched Harry thinking about his words. He assumed he was thinking at least. Reading the boy was as hard as reading Severus. Albus did feel a little guilty about throwing Minerva, his old friend and colleague, under the bus, so to speak, but Severus was far more precious to the cause than McGonagall, and Dumbledore didn’t want to open all his cards just yet. Not until he was sure that he _had_ Potter.

“I want this to be quiet. There’s no need for everyone to know about me or my powers.”

 _“So there_ are _powers,”_ thought Dumbledore, nodding. “I agree. The prophecy speaks that you’ll ‘have the power the Dark Lord knows not’, and it’s in our best interests that things continue that way.”

Harry looked at Dumbledore closely. “If Riddle knows the prophecy, then he knows that I have power,” he stated.

“Tom does not know the _full_ prophecy, Harry. He’s just aware that you’re a threat and nothing more.”

That made sense.

“I think I should go, professor,” said Harry, getting up. There was little point in throwing cryptic words at each other. The boy needed to know for sure that Dumbledore was telling the truth, and the headmaster needed to know things Harry wasn’t going to divulge until he could trust the man at least a bit.

Dumbledore seemed to understand that as well, because he nodded, wished Potter a good night, and rose to his feet. The boy returned the pleasantries and without a spare glance retreated from the office.

It was worse than hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter: Harry's first potions lesson and the aftermath.**


	3. I.9.6.91. The Master of… what?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's first potions class. What could possibly go wrong, right?

# I.9.6.91. The Master of… what?

Despite the bright cheerfulness outside of the window, Friday morning proved to be as dull as the rest of the week. Harry woke up tired and with a splitting headache because he's been trying to get back to the normal state much faster than planned, hence, every day since Monday, he's been overwhelming himself with the castle's magic, not so gradually increasing the pace. Because Harry couldn't allow himself to get caught off guard ever again.

Potter lay in bed, staring ahead and trying to calm down his raging head and now also stomach. The more time passed the more sick he seemed to feel. The day promised to be very hard… Harry even had half a mind of telling Weasley that he wasn't feeling well and not getting up 'till it all went away. 

But then he remembered that in this case he would likely be sent to the hospital wing, and Harry had no intention of going there. He visited a school nurse once a few years back, which turned out to be a complete waste of time. So, even if the wizarding society had better doctors, Potter didn't want to check it out on himself.

After a quick _Tempus_ , Harry decided to go take a shower while his dorm mates were still asleep and then lay down with a textbook for about half an hour before everyone would start waking up. Today was his first potions class, a class Potter had looked forward to since he returned from the Diagon Alley, and even more now. He was interested in taking a closer look at the mysterious professor the whole school was so terrified of. There must be more to him if Dumbledore chose him as a spy, so Harry couldn't wait for the lesson to start. And, who knows, maybe this class wouldn't be as boring as the others.

Two minutes later Potter got up with a soft groan and then stopped, scolding himself for being such a baby. There were times when he used to work feeling much much worse. Less than a week here — and look at him now! _"Don't be such a whiny little girl, Potter!"_ — he told himself and went to the bathroom. 

Weasley woke up almost an hour later, lazily stretching in bed and yawning so widely, Harry wondered how his jaw didn’t break. The boy seemed happy that it was Friday already, so Potter didn't even have to drag him out of bed, merely to point out that breakfast was about to start.

How could anyone love food _that_ much was beyond understanding. But then again, Ronald Weasley wasn't the smartest of men.

When the two of them finally left the tower, Harry was in no mood to wander around the corridors, so he decided to put an end to all this nonsense and led his friend straight to the Great Hall. 

“What have we got today?” he asked Ron when they sat down and started to pile food on their plates. 

“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” replied Weasley, thankfully, before he shoved a full spoon of porridge into his mouth. “Snape’s Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them — we’ll be able to see if it’s true.” 

“Wish McGonagall favored us,” said Harry for the sake of conversation. Ron opened his mouth again, but at that point, the post arrived and the redhead immediately diverted his attention there.

Harry followed his gaze to the ceiling. He hadn’t got any mail so far, for obvious reasons, (not that he expected or wanted to) but his bird flew by some mornings anyway. Harry suspected that Hedwig liked him for some reason. Probably because he always gave her a treat or two.

Today, though, she dropped a small note with familiar scribbles on his plate.

  
  


_Dear Harry, I know you get Friday afternoons off_ _  
_ _so would you like to come and have a cup of tea_ _  
_ _with me around three? I want to hear all about your_ _  
_ _first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

  
  


Potter stared at the note for a short while, regretting that he did not get rid of the giant when he had a chance. Or at the very least that he didn't act more like himself around him that day. The man wouldn't bother him now if he knew that Harry Potter was _not_ a freaking friendly, enthusiastic, squealing, brainless small kid who needed someone to look after him or talk to him. Sighing inwardly, Harry borrowed Ron's quill and wrote an answer at the back of Hagrid's note, agreeing to come to the man after classes. He gave the parchment back to Hedwig and the bird took off.

The whole 'The Boy-Who-Lived' thing started to really get to his nerves. Everyone around Harry annoyed him to no end, and pretending to be one of them… It was becoming harder and harder with every passing hour.

And then there was Dumbledore's expectant gaze that Potter felt on himself at each meal and in the corridors. The old man obviously waited for Harry to make a decision and come to him. But the boy wasn't ready for another chat with the headmaster, not in this state. So he ignored it as best as he could.

Potions classroom was a new location, so the two boys wisely cut the breakfast short and took off to the dungeons. Twenty minutes, one dead-end, a portrait, and a ghost later, they finally strolled into the right room. Ron's incessant chatting instantly died. The classroom was cold, colder than the dungeons' halls, and looked downright creepy with its dimmed light and countless shelves that covered every empty space on the walls filled with some sort of dead… things in glass jars.

As the students one by one entered the room and found their seats, the professor stood in the shadows behind his desk with his hands clasped behind his back and watched intently. Harry could instantly tell who noticed him — they immediately fell still and silent.

Only when there was absolutely no sound in the classroom, did Snape move. He slowly slid forward into the light and glanced around with a measuring glare one more time. 

"When I say your name, you will raise a hand,” — he said in a quiet silky voice. — “Brown, Lavender.”

The girl in question shakily held her hand up.

"Bulstrode, Millicent." 

The Slytherin's hand boldly shot up in the air, and she smirked. Little shit. Harry should have been there on the green side of the classroom, instead of here, on the stupid red one. 

The roll-call went smoothly until Snape laid eyes on Harry's name on the list. 

“Ah, yes… Harry Potter. Our. New. Celebrity," drawled the professor, emphasizing every word, his eyes glinting maliciously. Harry didn't like that glint. 

Somewhere to his left Malfoy and his stupid goons snickered. Potter suddenly found himself wishing to be able to rip the fucking ferret's tongue, preferably with his bare hands. 

To distract himself from those fools, Harry focused on Snape. The man obviously took his reputation _very_ seriously. Tall, thin — dangerously thin, — and dark. Exceedingly dark to be even real. With his curtain of long black hair, eyes-tunnels, too-long sleeves, too-high collar of his tight robes, and airy cloak Snape looked like a demon of the night. Like a part of a children's tale where everyone and everything was exaggerated for the sake of clarity.

Potter instantly wondered what the real man was like. He didn't dare try to legilimize the professor, but he didn't really need to. Because in his experience, darkness never meant evil — it meant secrets. Harry learned that a very long time ago. And Snape had a habit of sometimes hiding behind his hair as if shielding himself from the world. That black 'suit of armor' and the whole demeanor of his was meant to do the same, Potter supposed. And instantly wondered how many people in this castle — besides himself and the headmaster (because there was no chance that the old man didn’t know that) — noticed it too. 

Zabini, Blaise raised his hand at long last, and Snape rolled up the list, wandlessly and nonverbally banishing it somewhere, and then focused his intense gaze on the students.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death…" he half-whispered in his deep voice, "If you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

If the whole school really believed that Severus Snape loved _anything_ more than potions, they indeed were a big bunch of dunderheads. Because nobody talks like this about something they don't like. 

No one dared to breathe, it seemed. Harry sat stunned, regretting his decision about houses for a thousandth time this week.

And then not so much. 

"Potter!" snapped Snape and bore his heavy gaze right into Harry's eyes. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

 _"Seriously?"_ Harry quickly searched his brain for an answer but didn't find anything besides the fact that Asphodel was a plant, which was considered a flower of the dead in Greek mythology, and that wormwood had many uses even outside of potion-making. _"Wait… Right. Draught of the living death,"_ remembered Potter suddenly. It was mentioned in his copy of 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi'. But it probably wasn't a good idea to show off his knowledge. It would raise questions from his housemates. So Harry glanced at absolutely dumbfounded Ron, and then back at his professor. 

"I don't know, sir," replied he simply, keeping his voice neutral. Hermione Granger whimpered behind him, and Harry imagined her hopeful face and raised hand, but instantly canceled the image. It would only piss him off faster.

"Tut, tut — fame clearly isn’t everything," sneered Snape, obviously satisfied with Harry's answer. "Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

 _"In a goat's stomach,"_ replied Potter in his mind. It started to get annoying.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry aloud, trying not to notice the ferret and his gang's silent laughter, otherwise Snape's collection of all things creepy on the walls would have an addition — parts of human organisms. After an explosion.

"Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, Potter?" smirked Snape. Harry locked gazes with the man, checking his shields just in case. And as it turned out, he was right to do so. 

“What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

A moment after the question left the professor's lips, Harry felt a very subtle intrusion in his mind. It did not last longer than several seconds, during which Snape quickly scanned the top layer of the boy's memories.

_"You’re a son of a bitch. Who turned my mind into a fucking park for everybody to stroll?!"_

Harry sat still, doing all he could to contain his fury. Apparently, it slipped through the cracks anyway because Snape did not look pleased anymore, but Potter couldn't bring himself to care at that point. It was far more important not to kill anyone (dealing with consequences wasn't worth the momentarily satisfaction really) than to appear frightened.

"I don't know. But I think Hermione does, though, so why don't you try her?" snapped Harry.

Somebody laughed. Morons. The professor's face froze in an ugly sneer, and that malicious glint that Harry saw earlier returned. The man really truly _hated_ _him_. Not just the Boy-Who-Lived thing, he hated _Harry Potter_. It was personal and obviously very deep. Harry saw that look on the whale's fat face hundreds of times throughout his life. _"Just what the fuck, man?! What the hell is all this about?"_

"Sit down!" barked Snape at Granger, because the foolish girl was all but jumping with her hand raised. Couldn't she see how bloody irritating that was? "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?"

All students except Harry immediately snapped out of their haze and started to scribe the notes on parchment.

"And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter," announced Snape and turned away from Harry, indicating that the conversation was over.

"Potion — from Latin 'potio', which means 'beverage' — is a magical mixture commonly brewed in a cauldron and used to create a number of magical effects on the drinker," lectured Snape, slowly strolling between rows of workbenches. "Potions range in effects, nature, and brewing difficulty. This year you will make several simplest concoctions, endeavoring to hone your skills of preparation of different ingredients and learning a few basic brewing techniques. 

"We will start with one of the most simple potions — a Cure for boils. Open your books on page twenty-five. Those of you who had the presence of mind to _come prepared_ ," sneered the professor, all but pointing fingers at Harry, "would already be familiar with the theory, the practical specifics, and, of course, with the recipe itself. Split up into pairs and set up the work station…" 

Snape continued to talk, but Potter only half-listened and moved on autopilot. He didn’t know what to think anymore. Harry shared the professor's dislike for The-Boy-Who-Lived, for all that completely undeserved fame and fanfares, empty public love. None of those people knew him even a bit, but it didn't seem to matter, since all of them already assumed Harry to be a certain person that thinks and acts in a certain way. As it turned out, Severus Snape wasn't an exception to this rule at all. Yes, unlike others, the man had no warm feelings for Potter whatsoever, but the reason was still exactly the same. Potter sighed and turned his attention to the task at hand. 

A Cure for boils was easier than a chicken soup. At least in Harry's opinion. There were only five ingredients which didn't require much preparation, and the brewing process was fairly simple: boil water, add an ingredient, stir in whichever way you want for as long as it takes for the ingredient to dissolve, wait ‘till the water boils again, and repeat the whole process. The only semblance of difficulty was in measuring the right amount of each ingredient and with preparing the horned slugs.

But Ron was struggling even with that. And not only Ron, half of the class constantly made the stupidest mistakes possible, their hisses and groans of frustration filled the room as soon as the practical part started, and, regretfully, Potter had no choice but to join in the chorus.

Snape swept around between the workbenches, watching and criticizing students in no kind words. When the man stopped yet again over the next table, scolding Brown for another foolish thing she made and didn’t stop even when the girl was obviously on the verge of tears, Harry finally understood _why_ the whole school was so terrified of the professor. He had no mercy indeed. But Potter also understood Snape’s anger with the dumb students… He would’ve been angry as well. _Very angry_.

The only person in the room who seemed to be doing at least better than most was fucking Malfoy. And the boy was definitely very proud of that fact. Especially when Snape repeatedly pointed that out to the class, which annoyed not only Harry but others as well. 

"What does it say next?" whispered Weasley, bending over the textbook. 

"Snake fangs," replied Potter. "They're almost ready." 

Harry was the one to prepare the ingredients, they decided at the beginning, and Ron would do the actual brewing. It was their only chance to get a passing grade. Besides, this way Harry could take his time studying the magic swirling inside the cauldron. It was a fascinating process. Harry got so caught up in it, he nearly missed the accident with Neville and Seamus' potion which happened right next to him.

God only knows how, but the dunderheads managed to _melt_ the bloody cauldron… Probably made something _very_ stupid.

"Idiot boy! — barked Snape, turning to Longbottom when the acid green smoke filled the room, accompanied by a loud hissing. 

The potion — or what was left of it — was spreading fast around the floor, making the dunderheads hop up on their stools. Seamus jumped aside as far as he could, knocking off furniture in the process. No wonder, since the angry liquid apparently burned holes in Neville's clothes, shoes, and even skin… The boy looked awful and moaned in pain as the large boils immediately started to cover his arms, neck, partly his face — everywhere the potion had reached when it burst. _"Ironic, really,"_ Harry smirked inwardly. Snape furiously flicked his wand, vanishing the green goo before somebody else got hurt. 

"I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" continued the professor, advancing poor Neville who didn't seem to hear him. Then the man turned to Seamus and quickly swept his gaze over the boy, noting how he cradled his right hand. "Take him up to the hospital wing!" spat Snape to Finnegan as a result, turning again to look for other potential victims.

Unfortunately, the nearest student was Harry. 

"You — Potter — why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor." 

Harry was sick of it. If the man wanted a war, he would get it. The boy opened his mouth to tell Snape quite a few of his thoughts, but the idiot Weasley kicked him under their table. 

"Don’t push it," he whispered urgently, "I’ve heard Snape can turn very nasty."

Of course, he could. But so could Harry.

Potter stared Snape right in the eyes, not even trying to hide his anger, but said nothing. 

The professor sneered at him, assuming that he won, and retreated to the front of the classroom. 

"Get down, everyone!" he snapped at the gobsmacked students who still stood on their stools. "Back to work. If your potion isn't finished in fifteen minutes, you will get zero for today's class."

Harry did not move, still watching the professor intently, but was demonstratively ignored. Weasley kicked him again and nodded toward their furiously boiling potion. Potter sighed and got back to crushing and grinding snake fangs. He will think this over later.

* * *

As the two of them strolled from the giant’s hut toward the Great Hall to dinner that same evening, Harry couldn't stop thinking about Hagrid's words and behavior. The man was worse than an open book. Add to it Potter's ability to read minds, and there were no secrets left whatsoever.

And now Harry knew two things: first, according to Hagrid's memories, Snape hated him because of his semblance to James Potter with whom they had a full-blown war back in their school days, and probably because his mother, who used to be good friends with the future professor, at some point turned on him and then, to top it off, married Potter. Petty and dumb reason to hate a person who did not even know Lily or James, but it is what it is, Harry supposed. 

And the second thing that Harry learned, was that Dumbledore was telling the truth about the fucking war. Because, apparently, Lord Voldemort was trying to come back from the dead, using the Philosopher's stone, which Hagrid took from the vault in Gringotts in July and stashed it in the bloody school, leaving 'Fluffy' on guard. 

And for the love of God Harry couldn't decide what to do with it now.

"...thinking about?" 

Potter jerked out of his musings. "Sorry. What?" 

"I said what are you thinking about?" repeated Weasley, shaking his head. They were entering the castle's gates. 

"Nothing really. It's just… Odd, don't you think? That robbery. We really could've been right there, can you imagine?" asked Harry with feigned enthusiasm.

"Yeah, that would've been cool," agreed the redhead. "You couldn't _do_ anything, of course, but still. It's cool."

The Great Hall was already busy with students and teachers alike, keeping the incessant noise on a high level. Harry looked at the head table, his eyes immediately snapping to the figure in the center. Their gazes locked for a long moment, but this time Dumbledore didn't try to legilimize him, thankfully. The two of them just looked at each other calmly. 

"Hey, mate," called Ron again. "Sit down already. Are you with us?"

Harry turned his attention to the laughing Gryffindors and sat down, forcing a smile. Neville was back from the hospital wing, good as new, so the conversation around the table was about this morning's potions class. Again. Harry slowly ate his food, nodding in the right places, while Ron re-told the story.

"Tough luck, Harry," said Longbottom when Weasley finished and squeezed his shoulder (Harry did all he could to not flinch at that. He _really_ hated to be touched). "I couldn't even concentrate when Snape was near. He's terrifying."

Potter didn't consider Snape as such, but poor Neville had no need to know that. 

"It'll be okay, don't worry. Teachers in my previous school didn't like me either, so I'm kinda used to it already. I'll just try to ignore him."

Weasley snorted. "Did you see your face in class today, mate? I thought you were going to strangle him with your bare hands!" he laughed.

"It did cross my mind for a second," lied Potter, also smiling. The conversation instantly shifted to the possible means of killing a teacher, and Harry stopped listening completely when the twins enthusiastically joined in. It got him thinking again. _What should he do now?_

The boy glanced briefly to Dumbledore's right where the professor in question sat, scowling at his plate. And just why things for once couldn't be nice and easy? Was it really that much to ask?

Harry knew that come next potions class, he wouldn't be able to hold himself in check for long. At least not without a Goddamn good reason. And he really didn't want the man to be subjected to another Potter's bullying, especially knowing himself. Harry pitied the fool who would ever piss him off to earn _that_. So he needed more information before making any decision.

That made him think about the Headmaster. _He_ definitely had that information, but asking him was out of the question.

On the other hand, if the old man really wanted Harry at his side, he just might divulge something. Especially if he suspected that his dear precious spy was in danger. And the little fact that it was not really the case Albus Dumbledore had no business knowing.

Harry turned his head towards the staff table, noting to himself that the Headmaster already left, and then looked at laughing Ron.

"Listen, I need to go. My head's going to explode… I'll go visit Hedwig — have some fresh air and some quiet, okay?" 

Weasley just nodded, unable to stop giggling at some no doubt stupid joke, so Potter stood up from the table, took his backpack, and quickly left the Great Hall.

Putting his hands inside the pockets of his robes, Harry lazily strolled the corridors, not paying much attention to where exactly he was going. He was lost in thoughts, trying to decide how to better lead the upcoming conversation, but it was a hard thing to do at the moment. Potter wasn’t lying to Weasley, his head really was pounding, now worse than in the morning. He wouldn’t be against some Headache Relieve right now.

To go to Dumbledore and demand to find him a small quiet place to set a little potions lab (among other things, of course) was becoming more and more tempting. Because Harry wasn't going to lift a damn finger for the old bastard without some sort of gain for himself in exchange, thank you very much.

Potter looked around, attempting to locate where the hell he was. The corridor was brightly lit by torches on one of the walls. Through the line of narrow windows on the other side, Harry could see the darkened grounds, Hagrid’s hut, and the edge of the Forbidden forest. The light breeze wavered the fire in the torches, making the shadows dance rhythmically on the walls and the floor. It was soothing. Hypnotic.

Harry found a small alcove a little bit further in the corridor and sat down on an empty low stone pedestal on which at some point must’ve stood a statue, slid back until he could lean on the wall behind, and looked out of the window on the dark starry sky.

Did Dumbledore know he was here?

Probably. How else would he be able to constantly be on Harry’s way in the halls all the time? The old man was likely to have access to the castle’s magic as well, it only made sense. But didn’t bode well with Harry. The situation was far more dire and complicated than he ever imagined.

Potter felt trapped. Again.

Which made ever-present nausea and headache even worse.

Harry banged his head on the wall with a deep sigh. He was suddenly bone-tired. All those years of constantly pushing himself through every hurdle, through pain, exhaustion, hunger, hatred, fighting his addiction… And for what? To achieve greater results than yesterday? To learn this and learn that? To become stronger, smarter, tougher? What the fuck did he even need all that for?

Maybe he should just leave.

But Harry couldn’t move a muscle. He sat there, looking at the bright spots on the black sheet of a sky, abandoned by all thoughts. He didn’t know how much time had passed as he simply stared out there, but by the moment a thunder ripped through the silence of the evening, jerking Harry awake, his stomach had quieted down and the headache subsided to a dull throb. It started to rain.

Potter conjured his equivalent of the _Tempus_ and sighed again. It was already nearly eight. He stood up begrudgingly and stretched, popping the vertebrae back in place. On a whim (and because he really didn’t have any energy to run away right now) Harry decided to give the wizarding world another chance and made his way back to where he saw one of the portraits to ask for directions to Dumbledore’s office. He needed to make a decision about Snape, and he needed to make it soon.

About fifteen minutes later, Harry strode past the Sweet Gargoyle and went up the moving staircase. With one last calming breath, he straightened his Occlumency shields and knocked on the door.

"Enter," sounded from the other side, and Harry pushed the door open, walked in, and came to a halt behind a chair across from the old man’s desk, placing his palms on its cushioned back. Dumbledore seemed slightly surprised for a moment, but recovered quickly.

_"Well, now, aren't we looking innocent…"_

"Oh, Mr. Potter. How can I help you?" asked the headmaster, smiling warmly. "Lemon drop?"

 _"Come on, man, you can't actually be so nauseatingly nice. It's creepy."_

"No, thank you, professor. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I may." Dumbledore raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Yes, of course. What did you wish to talk about?"

Harry bore an unwavering gaze to the headmaster, preparing to catch even the slightest reaction.

"Professor Snape," he replied evenly.

"Hmm," Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I must say, my boy, you surprised me again. Has something happened that picked your interest?"

Harry ignored the annoying patronizing ‘my boy’ for a moment for the sake of speeding up this conversation. He had no wish of being in this room for longer than necessary.

"You see, sir, today was my first potions class. And professor Snape acted rather oddly during the whole period. I am absolutely sure that we never met before I got here, but the professor seemed to be, well, not exactly hateful towards me but certainly far from indifferent. I wouldn't ask if I wasn't convinced that it has something to do with my family's past. There's no other explanation." 

Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably but tried to cover it, motioning toward the chair behind which Potter stood.

"Well, Harry, why don't you sit down first?"

 _"Why don't you just answer…"_ He sat anyway.

"I have to admit, Mr. Potter, that I didn't expect you to ask this, though, I should have, probably. You are, by all means, one of the most observant young men I have ever had the pleasure to be acquainted with. Which is why I won't lie to you. But I also can't answer. You see, some time ago I made a promise not to discuss the present matter with anyone, so, unless you have professor Snape's permission, I shall remain silent."

Potter eyed the Headmaster carefully and shut down another attempt to penetrate his mind. _"You old coot. Get over yourself. Let's see, how would you like that yourself…"_ Harry probed, not too subtly, the edge of Dumbledore's mind and smirked at the flicker of surprise in the man's eyes, followed quickly by immediately raised shields. _"There. Didn't like it, did you?"_

They fell silent for a few moments.

"Professor Snape is a complicated person, Harry," said Dumbledore and then paused rather dramatically, rearranging his features to look gravely serious (which was kind of hilarious if you ask Potter. He definitely needed more sleep, possibly somewhere far away from the castle. The further the better). "He is that double spy I told you about the other day. His position is tricky, difficult, and dangerous. The war…"

_"Why are you always talking about the war? It's not what I'm asking."_

"…completely. I trust him with my life."

Harry feigned a surprised look at the revelation. There was no sense in pretending that he wasn’t monitored by Dumbledore just as close as he himself monitored the old man. The spy-games aside, though, it wasn’t what Harry came here for. He pressed his topic:

"So, you care about him?" 

Dumbledore didn’t even blink before he answered: "Yes. I do. Deeply. As I care for everybody else. As I care for you, my boy."

 _"Doubt it somehow…"_ There might be a chance that the headmaster really cared for Snape — they worked together for years, after all — but for Harry… It was incredibly hard to believe, considering the circumstances.

"Professor —"

"Oh, please, Harry, call me Albus."

Potter quirked an eyebrow. Ridiculous. One would think that the situation was truly desperate to call for such desperate measures…

"Um, fine, Albus. Was it Professor Snape, to whom you've made that promise?"

"Yes, it was," nodded Dumbledore.

"So what would you suggest I do? Ignore it?" Dumbledore sighed and clasped his hands on the table, leaning forward.

"It is for you to decide, Harry, not for me. But I would really appreciate it if you tried to help Severus to keep his cover. As he himself would, no doubt."

 _"Very subtle. Very subtle, indeed."_

Just look at that. Calling Snape by his first name, bringing in the sense of familiarity, indicating Potter’s special position in all this… Dumbledore needed Harry, big time, and wasn’t shy of using all available means and tools, it seemed. Not that Potter will buy this crap. One thing was clear though: he’ll have to bite his tongue during potions, at least for the time being. It wasn’t wise to antagonize the old coot without figuring out the extent of his powers and influence first. Especially knowing how obsessed with the war Dumbledore was.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry nodded and rose from the chair, hoping to escape the inevitable.

“Wait, my boy —”

“ _Don’t_ call me that!” snapped Potter, turning around sharply. Albus’ eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t say anything.

Harry smirked a little. The old man wanted to even the ground with him — the wish had been granted. If he had something against it now, well… He should’ve been careful in his desires because sometimes dreams _can_ come true. And bite you in the arse.

“I have a few questions of my own if you don’t mind, _Harry_ ,” said Dumbledore finally, forcing Potter to sit down again. The two of them looked at each other for a long heavy moment.

“Have you come to a decision concerning our previous conversation?” asked Albus at last.

“I have. In fact, I announced it to you during our previous conversation _right after you asked me_ if I remember correctly,” replied Harry evenly. “I will _not_ take an active part in your war.”

“Harry, the prophecy —”

“…can go screw itself. I don’t care about prophecies. I don't care about Dark Lords. I don’t care about how many people will die. You know why? Because death is inevitable. _Everybody dies._ ”

“Do you think this is a joke, young man?” said Dumbledore, rising to his feet. His eyes stopped twinkling and the room filled with crackling power, replacing the oxygen, making it hard to breathe.

Harry’s headache returned full force and his ears started ringing from the sheer tension. Which made him exceptionally mad. He stood up also.

“Does it look like I do?” hissed Potter. 

“This is of utmost importance, Harry,” insisted the headmaster. “You must cease all your childish petulance at once and try to see reason.”

Harry’s eyes turned very cold and the room froze. Dumbledore somewhat lost his formidable stance, but still looked very much the greatest wizard of our century, the one who instilled fear in Voldemort himself.

Not that Harry cared about all that. He had quite a few tricks of his own up his sleeve. Potter’s face twisted with fury at the accusation, but the next moment the boy got himself back under control, donning a neutral expression.

“Do not try me, old man,” he said quietly. “I might look small but I assure you, if you make me truly mad, you won’t like the consequences. I have absolutely nothing to lose.”

The room went deadly silent after that, all the noisy trinkets stopped moving. Lights flickered and with a sudden swirl of wind, went out, drowning the office in the darkness. Albus blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, everything was normal, except for one small thing. 

He was alone.

* * *

Harry paced angrily in the corridor where he sat earlier. 

_“The audacity of that man! Childish petulance… I’ll show him childish petulance! He’d wish he’d never been born. Fucking old goat.”_

Potter stopped abruptly and took a deep steadying breath. It would not do to lose control of himself like this. It was dangerous, stupid, and yes, childish. He sighed. That stunt with disappearance truly _was_ childish… And a big mistake. Because now Dumbledore was aware if not of the nature of Harry’s ‘powers’, but at least of the amount of it.

Even the headmaster couldn’t apparite inside Hogwarts grounds. Harry’s ability to do so was speaking for itself rather loudly.

Not that he was planning to show off in the first place… Potter just tried to rein himself back under control before he did something painful and permanent to the blithering fool, like crippled him. Or killed even.

There were two bright spots in all this: firstly, Albus Dumbledore would have to be more careful around Harry now, if he knew what’s good for him, of course. And secondly, Harry was finally able to fully relax and stop occluding all the time. 

Turning on the spot, Potter hurried towards the Gryffindor tower. The more time he spent in Hogwarts and the more he adjusted to its magic, the more he realized that the castle was sentient. And now, after the unexpected apparition, when Harry was forced to interact with it, to dive into the magic of this place headfirst, breaking all barricades, he could feel the castle. All of it. The barely noticeable hum of its magic. Subtle knowledge (somewhere way on the background of Potter’s mind) of current whereabouts of all its inhabitants, of every spell cast, of every disturbance of wards outside — around the grounds — and inside — on forbidden areas of the castle, on personal quarters of the staff, on classrooms, storage rooms, etc. Harry knew everything. He sensed everything.

And it felt amazing.

The only question was, whether or not Dumbledore could sense the same, and if so, what exactly could he do with it.

Allowing himself to be guided by the castle, Harry quickly and quietly strolled the corridors until he reached the entrance to the Gryffindor tower. It was five to nine — nearly curfew. The Fat lady quirked an eyebrow at him, and Potter gladly returned the gesture. And since there was nobody around, he didn’t bother with passwords either.

The portrait swung open, revealing the regular hustle and bustle of dozens of students. Some were laughing loudly, some played, some talked near the fire, some read or wrote silently, trying to ignore the noise. Harry stood near the portrait hole, looking at his housemates and wishing to have a nice quiet room or, better, private quarters of his own. Teachers were not the only ones who needed rest after a long and tiring day. Bastards.

“Harry! Where have you been?” exclaimed Ron over the voices, jumping from the couch and rushing toward his friend. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Potter smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I got lost a bit. Took the wrong turn, and then stupid stairs just wouldn’t stop moving the opposite way, you know how it is…” he lied. Weasley looked thoughtful for a moment, and Harry was afraid that he’d catch him on his lies, but then Ron relaxed and tugged his friend to one of the couches.

“So how’s your head?” asked Weasley when they sat down.

“Better,” Harry waved off, not wishing to talk about it. “What’ve you been doing this whole time?”

After half an hour of small talk, Potter left Ron in the common room playing Exploding snap with Thomas and headed to his dorm. The room was blissfully dark and empty. Harry quickly brushed his teeth, changed into his pajamas, and snuck into bed. He was exhausted and fell asleep in no time, contemplating ways of hiding his presence in the castle from the ever-watchful vigilant eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next: Dumbledore found a way to control Harry.**

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what do you think?  
> Please, be so kind and share your opinion!  
> It will be most helpful, plus it'll make me feel better :)


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